Introduced at Photokina (rest in peace) in 2004, the Epson R-D1 can claim several world-firsts. It was the world’s first digital mirror-less interchangeable lens camera. According to DPReview’s original article on the R-D1’s release, it was the world’s first rangefinder digital camera. It was also the world’s first digital camera to natively accept Leica M and L39/M39/LTM screw mount lenses, the latter through means of an adapter.

What is probably most surprising is that all these camera world firsts were achieved by Epson, a company known more for their printing, scanning, and projector products, rather than a company like Leica. Epson even beat Leica, the king of the “Messsucher” (or rangefinder for the non-german speakers like me), in delivering the first ever digital M mount rangefinder camera for the consumer market; the Leica M8 arrived a full two years after the R-D1, in 2006.

Because the Epson R-D1 was the first of its kind, it has the distinct privilege, at least in my book and another for that matter (Camera by Todd Gustavson, pg 347), of standing out in photographic history as a monument to beautiful, classic camera design while simultaneously stepping forward into the burgeoning bloom of the digital age. 

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Specifications of the Epson R-D1

• Camera Type: Rangefinder mirror-less camera
• Sensor: 6 megapixel APS-C CCD (23.7 x 15.6 mm); Max. resolution 3008 x 2000
• Lens Mount: Leica M
• ISO: 200, 400, 800, 1600
• LCD Screen: 2″ 235,000 dots
• Shutter: Max speed 1/2000 second
• Storage: SD card (2GB max)
• Dimensions: 142 x 89 x 40 mm
• Weight: 610 grams (1.37 lb)

Design

As far as outward appearance goes, if we clad the R-D1 in the legit street photographer livery of black electrical tape over all branding or labels, you would be forgiven for thinking it was a film camera. After all, the body design is based on the Voigtlander Bessa R platform. In fact, the R-D1 was developed in partnership with Cosina, the parent company of the modern Voigtlander brand. So, yes, the Epson feels very much like a film camera.

But once we take that imagined electrical tape off, turn the camera on, see the status dials energize to indicate important details like remaining shots and battery life, and flip that flippy screen around (not for live-view, but to review saved images and adjust menu settings), we realize that this is most definitely a machine with digital innards. 

The R-D1 sports a 6.1MP APS-C sized bayer-arrayed CCD sensor, the same sensor found in the Nikon D100. Its sensitivity tops out at ISO 1600. ISO is selected by lifting the collar of the shutter speed dial, just like many film cameras from the past.

Shutter speeds on the R-D1 range from 1 to 1/2000 second, with a bulb mode labeled “B.” Rotating the shutter speed dial to “AE” allows shooting in aperture priority, which is my favorite automatic exposure mode on any camera, and my preferred method of shooting.

Exposure compensation can be set to +2 to -2 EV with the shutter speed dial. There is also an AE lock button at the back of the camera where the photographer’s right thumb naturally falls. This button also locks exposure so we can be more precise with our metering, but I don’t find myself using it all that often, as I simply trust the center-weighted average meter for most of my shooting.

The camera can capture JPEG images in both normal and high quality settings, but it is also able to record in RAW. The .ERF files can be edited in post and still work in Lightroom to this day. All images are saved to an SD card, but the R-D1 will only accept SD cards that have a maximum capacity of 2GB. The R-D1X is an exception to this as that specific model allows the use of 32GB SD-HC cards.

The R-D1X also forgoes the flippy screen and offers only a fixed screen, making it more akin to a traditional digital Leica M or Fuji X-Pro 1 and/or X-Pro 2. Although I’ve never owned or used the R-D1X, I think I personally prefer the R-D1’s screen implementation because I can flip it away when not changing menu settings or reviewing images. And honestly, that is a good thing, because this screen is not an enjoyable viewing experience. It’s actually quite bad, but it’s hard to fault a 20 year old camera for having a low resolution LCD screen (a whopping 235K pixels to be exact).

There are actually two benefits that I see to closing the screen: 1.) closing the screen discourages chimping, and 2.) closing the screen reveals the awesome focal length equivalence table that is reminiscent of the ASA reminder or ISO selection wheel on the back of Leica M film bodies. For an APS-C crop factor table, it’s quite useful while not looking too out of place.

Even with the screen closed, it’s possible to easily adjust and understand our settings. The R-D1 has a cleverly designed interface that utilizes a lever near the user’s right thumb in conjunction with a jog dial on the top left hand side of the body where a film rewind knob would be on a traditional film camera. By using the lever to select either White Balance or Image Quality size, it’s possible to use the jog dial to make those adjustments without having to dive into the menu. Bravo, Epson! It’s these kinds of small yet intuitive details that impress me and make me grin.

The R-D1 is in my mind the perfect amalgamation of three important characteristics that make for an authentically analog experience for enthusiasts who wish to shoot digital: vintage mechanical precision, tactile handling, and digital workflow. 

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Vintage Mechanical Precision

The R-D1 feels like a proper camera. It is a “modern” image making tool that embraces a tried-and-true (if not very popular) focusing system which gives reliable results in the field.

To some, the rangefinder may seem like a vestige of a by-gone era, but its continued use in the current Leica M offerings, and even the Pixii camera, shows that there are some photophiles out there who appreciate a more mechanical approach and process to connect them to their photography. For people who have never used one, it may take some time to get used to rangefinder focusing. However, once practiced, this focusing methodology can become a very fun and engaging way of capturing photographs. In a world of phase detect autofocus, computational AI subject detection, and myriad tracking options for both animate and inanimate objects, the rangefinder can serve as a pleasant departure from such state of the art conveniences.

The viewfinder magnification of the R-D1 is notably nice. It uses a 1:1 magnification viewfinder, and although that is not unique in the world of 35mm film rangefinder cameras, it might be the only digital rangefinder camera to have one.

It’s often said by Leica shooters that the best way to use a rangefinder is to look with the right eye in the viewfinder and to keep the left eye open to look out into the world. But if the camera in question has a viewfinder with 0.85x or 0.72x magnification, like so many Leicas, doesn’t that confuse things? We’d be seeing the real world in a normal 1:1 magnification in one eye, and the same scene in a completely different magnification in the other (through the viewfinder).

Call me crazy, but I’m not a chameleon, and two different magnifications is hard for me to even think about without getting optically confused.

If you’re a “proper” right-eye dominant shooter, then the R-D1 will be an optically pleasant experience because both your eyes will be seeing the world in the same magnification! Just think, your rangefinder patch will be floating in the center of your real-life view of the world. It may not be the Apple Vision Pro level of augmented reality you were looking for, but a floating rangefinder patch is still pretty nifty if you ask me.

Just don’t ask me; I’m left-eye dominant.

In addition to the coupled rangefinder mechanism, the analog status dials on the top plate are another area where this camera oozes retro cool. For the watch enthusiasts out there, I think it is worth noting that the full company name of the Epson brand is the Seiko Epson Corporation. Yes, that’s correct. Seiko, as in the timepiece manufacturer. That’s probably why it is so satisfying to watch (no pun intended) the gauges snap to position. It’s like watching movements on a quality wristwatch. The dials actually remind me of those found on the Nikon 28ti and 35ti, which just so happen to be also designed by Seiko. 

There are, however, some parts of the R-D1 that might not feel as precise as, let’s say, a Leica.

There’s a tendency for the rangefinder patch to fall out of vertical alignment. My copy’s vertical alignment is slightly off, and I’ve lived with happily. But it’s not perfect.

Then there’s the manual frame-line selector switch. It doesn’t feel loose per se, but it doesn’t give me the same kind of clicked-in confidence as when mounting the same M-mount lenses on a Leica M body. Leica M cameras automatically snap to the appropriate frame-lines when different focal lengths are used, but with the Epson, we have to make sure we select the correct focal length for the right frame-lines to show up in the viewfinder. I can be forgetful every now and then, and have been known to leave the frame-line selector switch on 35mm when I actually had a 28mm mounted. I guess it’s not the camera’s fault, since I’m the one who forgot.

And lastly, the battery door can be a little fiddly. It does the job of housing the Fuji NP-80 style lithium ion battery, a battery that’s luckily still available from third party manufacturers on Amazon.

[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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Tactile Handling

The R-D1 utilizes true and accurate film-era haptics and movements for user operations that don’t feel gimmicky. If you’ve ever used a 35mm film camera from the latter half of the 20th century, you’ll feel right at home with the stand out feature of this camera – the film advance lever, or rather, as it is more accurately labeled in the user manual, the “shutter charge lever.”

Indeed, if there was one feature to highlight about the R-D1 in this article, it is the shutter charge lever. Although it does not advance any film through a transport system, as this camera does not shoot film, it’s necessary to actuate this lever to cock the vertically traveling focal plane shutter for each exposure.

For me, this lever is what makes the camera so fun. In a word, it’s fantastic! I don’t think there’s another camera like it, and I don’t think there ever will be again. True, there are other options for cameras with digital sensors that incorporate shutter cocking mechanisms, but they are usually in the form of digital backs that are added to film bodies, making them larger and slightly more unwieldy, and not to mention significantly more rare and expensive.

Off the top of my head, the Leica R8/R9 with Leica DMR back and the Hasselblad 500 series with the CFV digital backs come to mind. But to my knowledge, the R-D1 was the only camera designed from the ground up with a manual shutter charge lever integral to the camera’s function and operation.

Let me put it this way: if you’ve ever shot a Leica M film body and craved that tactile experience but in a digital format, then I think the Epson R-D1 is as close as you’re going to get to that film-like shooting experience. At one point in my photography journey I purchased a used Leica M9 (with an updated non-corroded sensor) and it was a wonderful camera to use for the season that I owned it. And even though it had a wonderful full frame 18mp Kodak CCD sensor that produced beautiful files, I ended up selling it to get the R-D1 instead. I made that decision because I wanted that film feeling when shooting digital.

I admit that I haven’t used any of the other digital Leica M offerings, but in my hand the M9 felt, for lack of a better word, chunky. It just didn’t feel like a Leica M film body (I own an M4-P for reference). The M10-D looked pretty cool when it was announced, but to hear about the shutter lever just being a thumb rest was a major let down.

But I digress. Let me get back to the subject camera.

Smaller design details hearken back to the days of analog cameras. The jog dial, which I mentioned earlier, is able to be pulled up to a raised position for accessing secondary directional functions when reviewing images in a magnified view. It’s probably not something you’ll be using very often, but since this camera lacks a directional pad or any command dials, this small decision to have the jog dial work this way is really cool, without being cheesy. It’s something with which a film shooter would be familiar, too,  since this is a movement was commonly used for opening film backs. 

The main point I wanted to make here is that for photo geeks, like me, who really enjoy how a camera feels and operates in the hand, the R-D1 provides a truly unique analog experience in the digital realm. It authentically feels like a film camera.

And yet, in some ways, it feels better than a film camera.

Digital Workflow

As much as I love analog photography and using film cameras, there are times when I simply want to have a digital image immediately.

Sometimes, I just want to have the photograph right away, instant gratification and all, ready to be viewed, enjoyed, consumed, or shared with someone without having to wait for lab processing turnaround times or home development and scanning sessions. And after our fourth child, the dev and scan sessions have definitely decreased in our household. Also, I think my wallet would like me more if I shot just a little less film and a little more digital. Don’t get me wrong, I still really enjoy film photography. But since I am a casual photophile who wants that same analog experience yet with a digital workflow, the R-D1 scratches that itch.

I believe that there is a place in the market for vintage/retro inspired cameras. The recent release and sales success of the Nikon Zf is a testament to that. And over the years, I’ve been blessed to have been able to use some notable models that exuded that same aesthetic.

I’ve had the privilege and pleasure of owning a Fuji X-Pro 2, the aforementioned Leica M9, and even the Olympus Pen-F. Each of these models are all very wonderful and enjoyable cameras in their own right, but I don’t own any of them anymore. And I think this is why I hold the Epson in such high regard. As great as each of those cameras were, the R-D1 is in my opinion the only digital camera that gave me the most authentic feeling of shooting film without having to shoot film. And I think, for that one reason alone, it has remained in my stable.

Final Thoughts on the Epson R-D1

And this is perhaps where I should conclude my rather verbose sentiments on this singular camera.

The Epson R-D1 makes for a user experience unlike any other. For some photographers, the process and experience of capturing the photograph is just as important as the photograph itself. The act of looking through a real optical viewfinder, composing within parallax-corrected frame-lines, triangulating the distance between the lens and subject, pressing the shutter release, and that ever-so-satisfying flick of the thumb to actuate the shutter charge lever for the next frame – it’s all these little things put together that bring me pleasure. And there’s no other camera that does it all quite like the Epson R-D1.

I think it’s the unique nature of the camera’s form and function that lend to its unicorn-like status. Current market value is somewhat reflective of this, with used prices now looking awfully close to the range of a monthly mortgage or rent payment. Thankfully, I was able to buy mine for a good deal from a domestic seller. Though I had to wait a long time for that good deal to come up.

But there really is no other camera like the Epson R-D1, and I don’t think there ever will be again. The R-D1 was born in a time when digital photography was becoming a real feasible alternative to film, and since many photographers of its time were familiar with the mechanical nature of tactile camera operations, I believe Epson made the right move in incorporating these familiar movements and interaction points into the design of the R-D1. It may not have been a commercial success, but it was the perfect camera for a niche community.

As a photo geek, husband, and father (a dad-tographer if you will), the Epson R-D1 is perhaps my quintessential casual photophile camera. For me, it is the camera that most connects me to the act of documenting the moments that will become my family’s memories.

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The resurgence of film photography led to a natural progression for many new film shooters from 35mm to medium format or 120 roll film cameras. Sadly, this burgeoning interest in medium format has also led to an explosion in the price of medium format cameras such as the Contax 645 and the Pentax 67 [our review here], placing many of them out of the reach of ordinary shooters. Fortunately, there is an alternative for those wanting to move up to medium format shooting, folding 120 cameras. From the end of WWII in 1946 until 1960 these were the predominant type of consumer cameras, so you have hundreds of choices, and many superb cameras that with a CLA can become a great daily shooter. If you want to get into medium format photography but can’t afford the crazy prices that the trendy cameras are going for, a classic 120 folding camera provides a budget-friendly alternative, and the Pearl IV is one of the best.

The History of the Konishiroku Pearl IV

The Pearl IV was released in December 1958 as a replacement for the Konishiroku Pearl III. It was the last model in a long line of cameras bearing the name “Pearl” starting in 1909. The camera had a very short lifespan and only approximately 5,000 copies were produced over a period of six months. It was advertised for just one month, being featured in the January 1959 issue of most of the major Japanese photography magazines, such as on the back cover of Shashin Kōgyō (above), and a two-page advertisement in Asahi Camera. It was distributed and advertised only in Japan, where it cost ¥22,000. However, the previous Pearl III had been selling for ¥24,000. To put that price into context, in Japan in 1959, a 30-year-old junior high school teacher would have been paid around ¥1,000 per month.

1958-59 represents a pivotal period in camera production and the beginning of the massive growth of the camera industry in Japan, which coincided with a commensurate drop in production in Germany. Up to this point “roll-film” cameras (including 120, 127, and 620 cameras) were the mainstream choice for amateur photographers. 35mm film was actually called “miniature” film, and professional photographers were still shooting 4×5 sheet film in what were often dubbed “press” cameras, such as the Speed Graphic.

Only four months after the release of the Pearl IV, in April 1959 Nikon released their ground-breaking Nikon F, and a month later Canon released its first SLR camera, the Canonflex. The creation of multiple SLR cameras, combined with the craze for slides shot on 35mm Kodachrome, meant that virtually every photography magazine around the world during 1957 through to 1959 had major features extolling the virtues of 35mm film and the cameras which shot the stuff. Folding medium format cameras quickly came to be regarded as old-fashioned and cumbersome, and by 1959 advertisements for them in camera magazines had virtually disappeared. By 1960, the production of folding cameras in Japan had ceased altogether.

120 folding cameras would be almost an extinct format until Fuji unexpectedly launched their Fujica GS645 rangefinder, a modern 120 folding camera with a plastic body in March 1983. If the GS645 had a parent it would be the Pearl IV, and although it added a light meter and weighs less, it is 15% larger and not as smooth in operation.

In the year 2000, Konica secretly planned a limited reproduction of the Pearl IV, most probably prompted by Nikon’s release of their Nikon S3 2000 special edition the same year. Sadly, despite having the perfectly preserved manufacturing drawings, Konica discovered that they lacked any assembly workers with the necessary skills to recreate the camera. The fact Konica considered this as a potential project is a testament to the quality of the Pearl IV.

Specifications

• Manufacturer : Konishiroku Photo Industry Co., Ltd. (later: Konica), Yodobashi, Tokyo
• Released : December 1958
• Production amount : 5,000 over 6 months
• Film : 120 roll film
• Exposures : 16 shots 6×4.5
• Format : 64.5mm x 40mm (4×4)
• Images Size : 60 mm x 45 mm (portrait aspect) exposed area 41.5 x 56mm
• Material : Diecast aluminium and steel, leather coated
• Lens : Konishiroku Hexar 75mm f/3.5 Hexar, Tessar type, Single Coated
• Aperture : f/3.5 – f/22
• Focus : 1.1m – ∞
• Focus adjustment : interlocking type Rangefinder
• Rangefinder : Vertical image matching type
• Viewfinder : Bright-Frameline
• Focusing : Helical
• Shutter : Seikosha MXL (#00) LV scale, double-exposure prevention, MXF synch
• Shutter Speeds : B, T, 1, 1/10,1/25, 1/50, 1/100, 1/200, 1/300, 1/400, 1/500
• Filter diameter : 30.5mm screw specially designed
• Exposure : Manual
• Light Meter : No
• Film advance : Rewind knob and automatic stop
• Frame counter : Automatic
• ASA : 50 – 800
• Self-timer : Auxiliary
• Battery : Nil
• Tripod socket : UK/USA standard
• Size L x H x W : 127 x 108 x 50mm (5” x 4 ¼” x 2”)
• Weight : 709 grams (25 ounces)
• Original Price : ¥22,000 Japanese Yen

Shooting the Konishiroku Pearl IV

Shooting a rangefinder-focusing 120 folding camera may seem a bit daunting to those bought up with digital imagery and automatic focus, but the Pearl IV brought many features that other cameras of the era did not possess. These included an automatic film advance and a big, bright viewfinder/rangefinder which makes it relatively easy to use, even for medium format beginners. With a little practice, and this article as your guide, you could easily discover the joys of medium format photography with a Pearl IV.

Viewfinder/Rangefinder: I wear glasses, and struggle with the tiny viewfinders on most cameras of this era. What drew me to getting a Pearl IV initially was reading about the big, bright viewfinder that it has. Apart from the Konishiroku Pearl IV, only two other all metal folding 120 cameras from the classic era came with big, bright frameline viewfinders, the Ensign Autorange 820 and the Takane Mine Six Super 66.

Although the finder is sometimes described as having automatic parallax correction, that is incorrect. The finder has an etched short-range mark to adjust manually for parallax, similar to the Leica M3. The viewfinder has an actual rangefinder base of 42mm and a magnification of 0.57, giving an effective base length of 24mm. Although the existing frame lines and rangefinder patch are very easy to use, I had a small, green piece of glass added while the camera was being serviced to turn it into a Green-O-Matic style system, which is far easier to focus.

Konishiroku’s Famed Hexar Lens – Konica’s Hexar lens was used on a variety of their cameras and is renowned as one of the best fixed focal length lenses in the world. The Pearl IV’s amber hard-coated 75mm f/3.5 Hexar, is a four element in three group ‘Tessar’ type, with five aperture blades and aperture stops going from f/3.5-32 in half stop clicks. As the attached images show, the lens is incredibly sharp edge to edge and produces rich vibrant colors.

“I also have a Super Ikonta A with coated Zeiss Opton Tessar 75mm 3.5 lens, and the Pearl totally outperforms the Super Ikonta A in both picture quality and ease of use.” – Robert Chojecki, Photo.Net discussion forum, Apr 27, 2006

A 75mm f/3.5 lens in 645 format equates roughly to a 45mm f/1.4 lens on a 35mm camera. A 45mm focal length (equivalent) and 1.1 metre minimum distance creates a good all-round lens, although it is compromise; not really close enough for head shot portraits, and not really wide enough for landscapes. The beauty of medium format, though, allows loads of space to crop images for tight head shots.

Film Loading – The Pearl IV uses a film loading method that will be familiar to anyone who has used a modern medium format camera. The hinged back is opened by releasing the sliding bar on the left, then the two bottom dials pop out from the body to more easily load the film and take-up spool in position. The two spring-loaded flanges inside the camera are then released before inserting the film spools. Once inserted, the two dials on the bottom are pressed back in and turned to the red marks to lock them in place. Then the back is closed and we can advance the film. The small diamond-shaped indicator on the top plate confirms that the roll film leader paper is correctly engaged and the supply spool is actually turning.

Semi-Automatic film advance – Just like its predecessor the Pearl IV uses a “semi-automatic” (auto-stop) film advance system instead of the usual red window found on most folding cameras of this era. This system was designed and manufactured by Nakagawa Kenzō and supplied to Konishiroku by his company Aram Kōgaku, at a pace of 2,000 units per month.

Compared to using a red window, or the semi-automatic systems used on other cameras, the system on the Pearl IV is intuitive, and very easy to use. The film is loaded and advanced to the “Start” line indicated by a dot on the film rails, the camera is closed, and film advanced by the winding knob until the exposure counter reaches 1. After that it operates much the same as a 35mm film camera of the era, and in my experience the frame spacing is always perfect. The system also includes a double exposure prevention mechanism, and a small indicator shows if the film has been advanced correctly, then allowing you to manually cock the shutter. After exposing frame 16, the film winding knob will turn continuously again until you’ve wound all the backing paper onto the take-up spool. There is also an internal lock, preventing accidental opening of the back before the film roll is finished.

Seikosha-MXL Shutter – Seikosha’s MXL shutter was the top-of-the-line leaf shutter produced in Japan, and equivalent to Synchro-Compur produced in Germany. First released in 1957 the shutter features five aperture leaves, an interlocked light value scale, double-exposure prevention and nine speeds, as well as Bulb Mode. The focusing helicoid has a red cover to minimize dust, and this also works as a memory aid, indicating that the lens must be set to infinity before closing the camera.

Shutter speeds did not become uniform across manufacturers until the 1960s. The Pearl IV uses the “older” style shutter speeds — so 1/10 instead of 1/15, 1/25 instead of 1/30, 1/50 instead of 1/60, 1/100 instead of 1/125; however, 1/250 and 1/500 are the same. Don’t be worried though, these minor variations in speeds should not throw off exposures. The beauty of leaf shutters is that not only are they whisper quiet, but because they are virtually vibration free you can shoot hand-held with shutter speeds as low as 1/15 second.

WARNING! once the shutter is cocked you should not change speeds up to or down from the 1/500th speed, as this can damage the shutter mechanism which has an extra spring for the top speed.

Cold Shoe & Flash Photography – The camera has a cold shoe located on the top plate which I usually use to mount my auxiliary light meter. The Pearl IV has X synchronization for electronic flash, which was only just becoming popular at this time. There is a red selector lever for M, F, and X flash synchronization located on the lower shutter, unless you plan on using a flash leave it in the X position. The flash-sync cable is attached to the brass connector on the front of the shutter.

Light Value (LV) System – Like many cameras from the late 1950s the Pearl IV uses a coupled Light Value System (LVS) scale; generally known as the Exposure Value System (EVS) in the United States. This mechanism was invented by Freidrich Deckel in Germany and released on their Synchro-Compur shutters at Photokina in Munich 1954. The system was later adopted by Alfred Gauthier and eventually throughout the camera industry.  The system simplified choosing exposure settings by replacing numerous combinations of shutter speed and f-number – i.e.1/125 s at f/16 – with a single number from 2 to 18 which can be changed at the flick of a switch. This is a really useful function, and I like it, since it operates like a primitive aperture priority mechanism (this is the mode in which I prefer to shoot). Of course, the inverse can also be said – the system easily acts like a shutter-priority mode as well.

The shutter speed and aperture are cross-coupled, and work in tandem, so any change to one directly affects the other. So if you want a wider aperture for portraits, and select f/3.5 the shutter speed is automatically increased. The reverse is also the case. If, for instance, the LV lever is moved to 8 you have six shutter speeds 1, 1/2, 1/5, 1/10, 1/25 and 1/50, and as your speed is made higher from 1 to 1/50 second, the aperture changes from 16 to 2 and shows you the optimal shutter or aperture speeds

Using the Light Value system has the advantage that, after some practice and for a certain ISO, it is easy to memorize the LV for typical situations such as sunny, cloudy, overcast, indoors and etc. Much like Sunny 16 there is a single number, a single scale to memorize and from there the aperture and speed combinations are pre-selected in the camera. With some practice with a certain ISO, you no longer need a light meter.

Shutter & Cable Release – The shutter release is on the right-hand side of the camera. It’s the square button on top of the lens door. In the normal position for a shutter button on most cameras you will instead find a threaded cable release socket which is mechanically linked to the shutter button on the door.

Tripod Mount – The camera has a regular sized tripod mount located in the middle of the bottom plate of the camera.

Selfie Stand – Sitting flush with the front of the lens door is a small metal tab which opens out to allow the camera to stand by itself on a flat surface in its horizontal orientation. This was a common feature on cameras of the era to allow selfies to be taken, but is also useful when using slower speed films, or longer exposures. As the Pearl IV has no inbuilt self-timer you need to use an auxiliary self timer which attaches to the shutter to take self-timed shots.

Accessories

The Pearl IV came in a blue and white presentation box with brown leather ever-ready case with PEARL embossed on the front. Additional accessories sold separately were the Konihood with its own filters, Koniflash, and Konifliters.

Leather Case – The Pearl IV was sold with a two-part leather case, which could be turned into a half case with camera strap attachments. Because the Pearl IV does not come with strap lugs on the body if you like carrying a camera around your neck you will need to buy a case to do that. However, the vintage leather case for the Pearl IV are extremely hard to find. Another solution is to use a wrist strap or find a vintage camera neck strap with tripod mount.

Lens Hood – The Pearl IV was advertised with a metal clamp on lens hood, the Konihood, originally priced at ¥330. Chrome plated on the outside with KONIHOOD engraved, and black on the inside, it was attached to the lens via a tightening screw. The Konihood for the Pearl III is exactly the same size, but as both hoods are hard to find today, an aftermarket 30.5mm screw-in hood will work. Please remember that you must remove the lens hood before closing the camera.

Filters – The Pearl IV takes Konica’s proprietary “Konifilters” in 30.5mm thread. However, Konica produced Konifilters for a variety of their camera, and the Pearl IV took special filters that were very low profile to allow the camera to close with them still attached. The Konihood also took Push-on Y0, Y1, Y2, R1 and P1 filters originally priced at ¥260 each. You can use modern filters, but ensure you get the low-profile type so you don’t damage the camera if leaving them on. Schneider-Kreuznach produced the best low-profile filters that will fit the camera.

Flash – Konica produced a fold-up Koniflash, a fan-shaped unit taking magnesium bulbs, originally priced at ¥1,950. Luckily, the Pearl IV has electronic flash synchronization so will work with any modern electronic flash at all shutter speeds.

Pearl IV Auto-Up System – Like many folding 120 cameras of the era the Pearl IV used a 75mm lens, with a minimum focus distance of 1.1 metres. As a 75mm lens on a 645 camera equates to a 45mm lens on a 35mm camera, the Pearl IV is only capable of taking a head and shoulders shot at the minimum distance. To allow macro and close up head shots a company called PLEASANT devised the “Auto-Up” close-up attachments. They were available in two versions, priced at ¥1,930 each, the Auto-Up No.1 is suitable for portraits from 50cm – 1m, and Auto-Up No.2 for macro shots from 43-60cm. You can read more about the system here.

Cheyenne’s Verdict

Firstly, the pluses which are many. Beautifully crafted, with a razor-sharp lens and whisper-quiet shutter, bright line coupled rangefinder, easy film loading, double exposure prevention and automatic film advance, all packed into one of the smallest and lightest medium format cameras that will fit in a coat pocket, or small camera bag.

Now for the negatives of the camera, which shouldn’t deter you from considering one.

• Right hand opening folding cameras are not as easy to hold on to as horizontally folding 120 cameras, unless you are left-handed. Added to this ergonomic quirk is the fact that the shutter release is not in the traditional position on the body, but a button on the folding door.
• It lacks neck-strap lugs on the body, these were on the original leather case which nowadays can be hard to find. Personally, I carry it in a cheap foam camera case when it’s in my camera bag and use a wrist strap for protection.
• Like nearly all 120 folding cameras the aperture and shutter mechanism on the front of the camera makes it a little difficult to alter with changing light.
• The LV exposure system may not be to everyone’s taste, but personally I like it and use it as a primitive aperture priority system.
• It lacks an internal light meter, but as most cameras of this period used Selenium meters that may not work or be accurate, I see this as a plus. I use a Hedeco Lime auxiliary light meter mounted in the hot shoe and find this works incredibly well.

Thinking of Buying a Pearl IV?

While the Pearl IV is an uncommon camera, 5,000 were produced, meaning that it’s not especially rare and examples are readily available on eBay. If you compare the features of the camera and what other vintage medium format camera are selling for, I think a working Pearl IV is a bargain. As with all vintage film cameras I would emphasize that you should have a CLA done before actively shooting one, and factor that into the price when buying one.

The Konica Pearl IV, Ensign Autorange 820, and the Takane Mine Six Super 66 are the only all-metal 120 folding cameras with big, bright frameline viewfinders, which are easier to use, especially for those who wear glasses. I understand that the Pearl IV is quite collectible and more expensive than other 120 folders, but there are similar cameras produced during this era which you can pick up cheaply with a bit of hunting online.

The natural alternative is to get a Pearl III, which has a smaller viewfinder but is still a beautiful camera. Other superb 120 folding cameras to look out for are the Zeiss Ikon Super Ikonta series, Mamiya 6 series, Ross Ensign Selfix 16-20 Auto-Range, Takane Mine Six II-F & Mine Six Super 66, Petri RF aka Karoron RF and Karoron SII, Voigtlander Perkeo, Balda Super-Baldax, Certo Six, and Agfa Super Isolette, all of which have superb lenses and semi-automatic film advance (in some).

If you’re put off by older cameras, then the easiest choice is a Fuji GS645 Pro, which has all the features of the Pearl IV, as well as a built-in light meter, auto parallax correction, and a film advance which automatically cocks the shutter. However, it has a plastic body and the original bellows will need to be replaced.

As readers of Casual Photophile might know, I have bought, shot with, and then kept or sold a variety of rare film cameras over many years. So, despite a lot of research and online comments telling me that the Pearl IV was a great camera, there is always some trepidation when receiving a new/old camera around whether or not it will live up to my expectations. Well, the Pearl IV not only fulfilled my expectations, but it exceeded them.

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The post Konishiroku ( Konica ) Pearl IV – The Last, Best 645 Folder appeared first on Casual Photophile.

I know about the curse because I lived the first part (desiring the XPan) for years. And I’ve witnessed the last parts (selling and regretting) again and again each time I looked up reviews of the camera. The analog community is full of regretful people and of cautionary tales about this camera. To succumb to the curse is to gamble, to place a bet on being the right audience. It’s a life-altering decision, and why it took me all that time to pull the trigger and spend the most money I’ve ever spent on a camera. Which was now two years ago.

Did I break the curse? Well, I didn’t sell my XPan. Because it’s the greatest camera in the world.

But let’s get back to the beginning (last chance to turn back).

What is the Hasselblad XPan

When trying to explain the XPan to my non-photographic friends, I fall back to the classic Portal 2 quote, “Science is not about why, it’s about why not?”

At some point in the mid 1990s, somewhere between Fujifilm Japan and Hasselblad Sweden a team of people decided that they should try their hand at making a 35mm panoramic camera. Not a semi-toy camera like the Russian Horizon, and not a medium format hack like the 35mm Mamiya 7 back. No, they wanted to create a true, laser focused, state of the art panoramic camera for 35mm film. This goal was the driving force in the creation of what would be known as the Fuji TX-1 in Japan and the Hasselblad Xpan in the rest of the world.

Looking at the body in hand, everything has been perfectly engineered to serve one unique purpose and vision. They made a double length metal shutter, used bespoke medium format lenses for maximum coverage and minimum distortion, and built a one of kind panoramic viewfinder. And because it was the XPan was to be a late-90s, best of the best sort of camera, they added every feature that technology allowed: a flawless light meter, exposure compensation, burst mode, everything that 1990s photographers could dream of (except a LCD speed readout in the viewfinder, but we’ll get to that).

They had crafted both the best and only true panoramic 35mm camera in the world. It was a folly of engineering and hubris, a 1-kilogram beast, and I would wager that they didn’t even know who would want it, or what they’d do with it. “If you build it, they will come.” I don’t know if the Xpan met sales expectations (a few tens of thousands were made across two generations of the camera), but they built it. I believe, and will continue to believe, that they made that camera just to prove that they could.

My Personal XPan

I was terrified to get one. For years, I watched endless reviews on YouTube and marveled at high-res pictures on various websites. But I also read one too many blog posts about people realizing that once they shot a couple of landscapes with it, they had no use for the thing and promptly sold it. So, I didn’t buy in. I lusted, like a kid in the streets in front of a candy shop. Maybe one day.

Then the pandemic happened. Months shut in with my good old Minolta SLR as an unlikely companion. I took several rolls of pictures of these months, of daily life at home, of empty streets and long weekends with my partner. On some level, photography made all of this more bearable and the pictures we made were made of all the best memories of these troubled times. This is when I made up my mind. If taking pictures helped me, if this hobby had healing properties (as this website has shown time and time again), I needed to know. I had to make sure. If the XPan was “for” me, then I shouldn’t hesitate anymore. Setting some money aside every month, I started to look for one.

Securing my personal Hasselblad XPan could be an entire article in itself, but I finally found one in a remote city in the middle of nowhere, France. The owner had it from his uncle, who only used it in her studio. The camera was immaculate, not a single dreaded paint chip anywhere to be seen. And, he was selling it with two of the three lenses that were made for the system: a 45mm all-purpose kit lens and the portrait-friendly 90mm.

I will not disclose how much I paid but the (low) price never fails to shock my good friends at the Nation Photo lab (which developed and scanned every picture in this article). The catch: both lenses had early fungus (please do not store several thousands bucks worth of camera gear in your damp countryside basement). Fortunately, Paris is the home of Les Victors, previously known as Hasselblad France. When Hassy left the country, the team stayed and are now the best place to buy and repair Hasselblad cameras. And, for a couple hundreds euros, I was able to get my Xpan serviced and its lenses cleaned of all fungus!

The XPan in Use

Leaving Les Victors, the XPan weighed heavily in my hands. It truly is a beast. You have to grab it by both hands if you hope to keep it steady. The weight also makes it feel important in your hands, both massive and fragile at the same time. The on/off switch is so tiny, and sometimes I have to check twice if I’ve turned it on. Both lenses I own are gorgeous, ultra-compact, solidly made, with satisfying aperture clicks. The viewfinder is large and bright, even if I came to distrust the frame lines, forcing me to always step back a little to make sure I will have everything on the final image (the technician did check and told me everything was fine).

My one and only gripe is that I wish I was able to see the aperture-priority selected speed in the viewfinder instead of on the LCD back (an oversight fixed on the subsequent XPan II). Pressing the shutter button takes the picture, which is logical but also all I can really write about the picture taking process. Which means that using the XPan is not a particularly pleasant experience, on a tactile and mechanical level. I love feeling custom-made ebony wood handle I’ve added to the body under my fingers, and I can appreciate the premium materials of the camera, but shooting a picture is just that, shooting a picture.

The Xpan is not a fetishistic camera the way my Minolta SLR or my TLR are, where I revel in the mechanical intricacies of using it, feeling every gear turn and lever actuate. The XPan is more akin to a laser scalpel. It’s made to do one thing and to do that one thing better than anyone else. And it shows on the final image: the high resolutions scans I’m able to get from this are breathtaking, the medium format depth of field I can get with the 90mm lenses is out of this world. I’ve made 1-meter-long prints with pixel perfect details, and I also enjoyed the most amazing-looking slide negatives of my photographic life. This is an end-result oriented camera. You want it for the images you’ll get, not the actual experience of using it (and don’t get me started on hiking with this monster in my backpack).

Which brings us to the actual question of this whole business: do I like it? Does this bring joy, as they say?

Before I stumbled on what would become my own Hasselblad XPan, I almost bought another copy of the camera. But at the last minute something came up and I couldn’t meet the buyer, we had to cancel the deal. He told me that this was a sign he was waiting for: he could not part with this camera. He felt it in his heart that selling would be a mistake, and while he would have sold it to me that day, every fiber of his being told him not to. He would have fallen victim to the final curse of the XPan, if fate hadn’t intervened. And he was right.

I will never part with this camera. If (when) it breaks and it can’t be repaired anymore, I will buy another one, and another one, until all of them are broken for all time. I’ll buy another and another at all costs. Because not only is this my dream camera, but I also make good use of it.

I did not fall into the landscape trap, I didn’t decide to let it sit on the shelf (and get fungus again). The trick is just grabbing it before I go, taking it with me and finding ways to put it to work. Place my eyes enough times on that viewfinder until I can see the frame lines in real life. It’s just a question of rewiring your brain, rewiring the way you view the world. A dream camera does that to you, it changes you. And sharing pictures is a way for me to share the way I see things, through my XPan. I feel proud writing this, and prouder if any of you made it this far into this review. But I also feel ashamed, as I’ve once again done the dark biddings of Fujifilm and Hasselblad.

I’ve cursed you. The way the previous articles, blog posts and reviews cursed me.

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

Today’s Guest Post was submitted by…

Matthias Jambon-Puillet is a marketing executive in the entertainment industry in Paris. After 20+ years of using digital cameras as his main passion and hobby, he rekindled his love for photography by switching to analog. Now the proud owner of way too many cameras and a lifelong stash of frozen fuji color films, he is in the process of figuring out his favorites. A process that is thoroughly documented on his Instagram in real time.

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“Let’s see,” I said. Basic math, but I had to think. “It’s… 67 years old.”

“Is that older than you?” She asked.

“That’s older than Papa!” I replied, and pressed the shutter release to catch her look of disbelief.

This math equates the birth year of the Olympus 35-S to 1955, and it’s an impressive camera for its era.

A compact body made entirely of metal, an acceptably capable fixed lens, a viewfinder with integrated rangefinder focusing patch, a fast focusing tab, rapid wind lever, and the first ever rapid rewind knob built into a Japanese camera (the rewind knobs of prior Japanese cameras were all simple knobs, lacking the flip out lever of the 35-S which later became ubiquitous), the Olympus 35-S is no slouch on the spec sheet. At least, not in its own time. For film shooters today who are looking for a fixed lens rangefinder to burn their 35mm film, there are better choices. Minolta, Canon, and Olympus themselves all made cameras in the 1960s, ’70s, and ’80s which effectively evolve the formula of 1955’s 35-S.

Still, for collectors of Olympus cameras or people who simply appreciate all-mechanical, all-metal and glass film cameras with no electronics and simple design, the Olympus 35-S is pretty nice.

Olympus 35-S Spec Sheet

• Format – 35mm full frame
• Lens – Olympus E. Zuiko F.C. 48mm F/2.8
• Aperture Range – F/2.8 – F/16
• Shutter – Seikosha MX leaf shutter; speeds Bulb, 1 second, 1/2, 1/5, 1/10, 1/50, 1/100, 1/250, 1/500th of a second
• Shooting Modes – Manual Only
• Focusing Modes – Manual focus, rangefinder integrated into viewfinder
• Light Meter – None
• Flash Capability – External flash sync X/F/M
• Other Features – Accessory shoe (cold), film frame counter, film speed reminder, strap lugs
• Weight – 620 grams

I shot my Olympus 35-S at a coastal park amongst stunted conifers and sandy seawalls. It was the kind of late-March sunny day that looks like spring but feels like winter. The wind never stopped for a moment and I could feel the salt sticking against my face and lips. My daughter hung in there admirably, screaming into the wind between exposures and doing her best not to squint. The ocean lapped at the feet of the gulls, and I wondered how the hell any creature could stand to stand in the one-inch-deep ebb and flow of frigid sea water at low tide. But they do it. And I photographed it.

The wind did its best to freeze my fingers and pry the camera from my mitts. But the Olympus 35-S fits nicely in the hand. It lacks contoured grips of any kind, but it’s large enough that my fingers can find purchase. The lens is dense and balances the weight of the body perfectly when held two-handed.

The controls are all localized on the lens barrel so that adjusting aperture and shutter speed are easily achieved with one finger and one thumb. The aperture selection is displayed in a cut-out window on the top of the lens barrel (which is beautifully finished), and these are accompanied by easily-legible scale focus markings. The focusing tab allows rapid focusing and the focus scale is marked in feet. All of this is executed beautifully, comparable in design and quality to the many similar West German cameras of the era (many of which I’ve written about previously).

The shutter release, film advance lever, and film rewind lever are all located on the camera’s top plate. These all actuate as one would expect (assuming that one has used an old film camera before). The internal film compartment is typical fare, with a metal pressure plate, metal rollers, and a gorgeous metal sprocket advance gear. The film take up spool is sheathed in plastic, which could be a weak point in the camera’s reliability, though mine seems strong and stable.

There’s a film frame counter and a film speed reminder on top as well. These do what they do.

The viewfinder is small and somewhat dim. However the rangefinder focusing patch is built into the viewfinder, something that not every 35mm rangefinder of its era could claim. If there is a weakness in the overall Olympus 35-S package it is certainly the smallness of the VF. And for those of us who wear glasses, well, the VF could be a deal-breaker. Not just because it’s even harder to peer through for glasses-wearers, but also because its bezel is metal and it scratches lenses. I changed into contact lenses just prior to shooting this thing after testing it first with my glasses. It’s bad.

The Lens

Old lenses are great, and they have personality that can sometimes be lacking in the standard fare of today’s Canon and Nikon and Pentax and Sony do-everything-perfectly modern lenses. A big part of this hobby, in fact, has coalesced around easily adapting old film camera lenses to digital bodies. There’s just something about images made with old lenses that’s hard to quantify or replicate, but whenever I see a shot from an old ~50mm lens I instantly know that I’m seeing an image that was made by something other than Canon’s latest nifty-fifty.

Fixed-lens cameras like the Olympus 35-S offer much the same, let’s call it interesting, image quality.

This particular fixed-lens camera uses a 4.8cm (48mm) Olympus E. Zuiko F.C. with a maximum aperture of F/2.8. Images are very sharp when stopped down to F/8, and sharpness is still excellent even when shot wide open. At this aperture, F/2.8, and with a close subject the background is nicely blurred as well. There’s lovely gradual shift from out-of-focus to in-focus areas of a shot, and on the whole, the lens is a solid performer. It’s just a good, old lens that packs a lot into a small, affordable package.

Final Thoughts

The Olympus 35-S is a beautiful camera. It’s nicely made and competes easily with the fancy West-German cameras of its class and era. Its rangefinder works well, its controls are laid out intelligently, and it’s easy to use (so long as we’re comfortable using a fully manual camera with zero user aids). The fixed lens is of a versatile focal length and with a fast-enough aperture that we’ll be covered in all but the dimmest light. It’s just a super pretty and capable classic camera, and one that’s flying under the radar these days. Of course, this is in part because they’re somewhat uncommon in the USA and Europe.

For those wondering if they should buy – I can’t recommend this camera for someone who simply wants to make nice film photos. There are much better cameras for that. Point and shoots from the 1990s will do the same things as this Olympus, and more, and easier. SLRs offer far greater bang for the buck. And for those of you who are specifically looking for a fixed lens, classic rangefinder film camera, I’d recommend later models (some of which were also made by Olympus!).

If you’re an Olympus collector or someone who simply loves true classics, by all means seek out your own 35-S and enjoy the tactile, old-world experience of shooting a camera made after the big war and well before the era of electronics. But for everyone else, the Olympus 35-S will probably feel a little too old and limited. That said, it’s a gorgeous thing.

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What follows is a brief story of why the Hexar found its way into my life and how it found its way out of my life. 

The Rangefinder Mystique

No sooner does a person enter the film photography community today than they are confronted by the cult of the rangefinder. Point and shoots are maligned as a fashion accessory, and SLRs are a dime a dozen, but the rangefinder occupies that upper echelon of 35mm gear. The mythos of rangefinders snakes its way through social media with tales of better lenses and famous photographers. 

Much of the talk is true, of course. Rangefinders don’t have a mirror, which, in turn, results in a smaller flange-to-film distance, quieter shooting, and steadier shooting. Rangefinders, by definition, use a rangefinder viewfinder without any sort of prism meaning lenses can stay stopped down while composing, there’s no viewfinder darkening as a result of slow lenses or filters, and the viewfinder coverage extends beyond what the lens sees. 

The flange-to-film distance and the stopped-down composing allows rangefinder lenses to be smaller and, in some cases, optically superior to SLR lenses. This is because there is no need to either clear the mirror (which means lens elements can extend further into the camera body) or house components for automatic stop-down. So on and so forth.

For me, part of the reason I so pined for a rangefinder was that mystique. Anyone and everyone can find an old Canon or Pentax SLR, but only so many walk around with a rangefinder in its svelte form factor. 

The Canonet 28 scratched that itch early on for me, but after some time, I knew only an M mount camera would do. I started with a Leica CL, which lasted only a few weeks. Next I owned a Voigtlander Bessa R2 in olive green. The Bessa was fun and gorgeous, but ultimately felt cheap in my hands: it was constructed out of magnesium (a low density metal), the exposure indicators flickered in the viewfinder, the shutter release had too little resistance. 

I was faced with a crisis of faith. I praised rangefinders as demigods but my affordable M mount bodies were lackluster. Was the issue the rangefinder or my budget? Having ditched the CL and the Bessa, I thought I’d add in another constraint: aperture-priority.

I laid my options out on a mental table: the Minolta CLE, the Konica Hexar RF, a couple Voigtlander Bessa models, the Zeiss Ikon, and, of course, the Leica M7. The Voigtlanders were out. The Ikon was out here pulling costs over two grand, while the M7 was even greater than that. Left with the CLE and the Hexar, my choice was easy. 

Choosing the Hexar

In all the cameras I’ve loved and lost, only two, in retrospect, broke my heart: the Contax G1 and the Contax 167MT. The former left my collection due to its spotty autofocus, to be replaced by the formidable Fujifilm GA645. The latter left my collection in my pursuit of a rangefinder. 

The reason why my choice between the CLE and Hexar was easy comes down to my love for the G1. Internet-hearsay suggests that the Konica Hexar RF was manufactured by the same manufacturer responsible for the Contax G1 and Contax G2, as well as the Hasselblad XPan. I can’t say with any certainty how true this is, but the cameras themselves certainly seem to confirm it. 

From the matte powder coating to the knobs and switches to even the back cover release, the resemblances are striking. Couple these body similarities with Zeiss’s Planar 50mm f/2 ZM lens and you get pretty close to a manual focus Contax G1. Hence, my choice was an easy one.

I kissed goodbye the Bessa R2, and a few weeks later I met another hobbyist at a Dunkin Donuts in Canton, Massachusetts to test and then leave with a beautiful Hexar RF. 

Before getting down to the brass tacks, let me address one of the two most common disparages of the Hexar (the other being its reliance on electronics): “It’s not really an M mount camera! It’s a KM mount camera!” This debate has raged on the web since the earliest days of turn-of-the-century forums and messaging boards. 

I can’t definitively say that the KM mount is or is not the same as the Leica M mount. I can say that I have used multiple M mount lenses on my Hexar including at f-stops as large as 1.4 and never has my focus been off. I am but one of many, many film shooters who has never had a problem shooting M mount lenses on their KM camera. 

The Brass Tacks

The Konica Hexar RF is a rangefinder film camera for the modern era. Let me quickly point out its defining modern features: 

• Internal motordrive (i.e., automatic film advance) 
• Easy film loading with the motordrive 
• Automatic film rewind
• Capable of 2.5 frames per second on continuous shooting
• 1/4000th of a second maximum shutter speed
• Auto exposure mode with a speed range of 16 seconds to 1/4000th of a second
• Auto exposure lock mode (lock with a half-depress of the shutter release button) 
• Exposure compensation from -2 to +2 in 1/3rd of a stop increments
• 1/125th of a second flash sync
• Self-timer
• DX ISO setting
• Metal shutter

These features come packed inside an aluminum chassis with titanium top and bottom plates and a textured rubber cover on the front and back, weighing in at 560 grams. On the front of the camera, you’ll find an incorporated right-side grip in the form of a modest crag for your fingers to hold. Moving left from the grip, there’s a small lens lock release button in silver with a concentric red circle. Left further still, there’s a small lever for changing which framelines appear in the viewfinder, overriding the default framelines set by the lens. 

(The frameline lever features a three-textured design: a dimpled metal, a matte metal like the body, and a high gloss metal. Of course, this design is irrelevant to the camera’s use or even general appearance, but the decision to design one tiny part with three textures speaks to Konica’s commitment to the details.) 

Above that lever, you’ll find the viewfinder glass: big, multi-coated, and gorgeous. The viewfinder has framelines for the following lens lengths: ​​28mm + 90mm, 50mm + 75mm, 35mm + 135mm, in those combinations (meaning that when a 28mm lens is on the camera, both the 28mm and the 90mm framelines will show up). The magnification is admittedly only 0.6x, which is far from real life. Resultantly, the framelines are good for wide lenses and pretty small for long lenses. In general, I find the viewfinder to be plenty bright and very clear. 

Getting to the top plate, there’s an LCD output that shows, at all times, the battery level and, when turned on, the current frame number. There’s a hotshoe, an exposure compensation dial housing a manual ISO wheel, the shutter speed dial (which locks at “AE” and “AEL,” both painted green) with a red “125,” and the on-off switch that is straight stolen from the Contax G cameras. 

The rest of the camera’s external features are relatively straightforward—manual rewind button, tripod socket, mechanical shutter release, battery compartment, silver-plated brass lugs on the top front, the aforementioned door release switch. These are in addition to my favorite tiny feature, the film door preview. A small, clear, pill-shaped window allows the camera’s user to see if and what film is loaded in the camera. 

Maybe the most standard aspect of the Hexar is its meter, a center-weighted TTL silicon photodiode and no TTL flash metering. Would I prefer evaluative metering and/or the option to choose spot metering? Undoubtedly. Did the Hexar ever botch the exposure in my time with it? Not in my judgment. 

What you get in the Konica Hexar RF is a blazingly fast automatic camera with manual focusing. 

The Hexar Experience

Shooting with the Hexar can best be described as sexy. A sleek, all black camera with a satisfying shutter snap and futuristic “zh-ghzt” film advance sound, the shooting experience is just cool. (And yes, I did spend about five minutes listening to the advance sound, imitating it myself, and trying to put it into letters). 

The Konica Hexar accompanied me on hikes, a wedding, an anniversary getaway to Walden Pond, walks in Manhattan, night jaunts on the Ocean City boardwalk, and quotidian tasks throughout the 21 months I owned it. 

Focusing was easy for me, the camera was hefty in my hands (a plus for me), and produced well-metered photos at the click of a button. Does it feel like a Contax G1 as I might have hoped? Not exactly, but it’s also a far cry from the clunky manualness of the Leica CL or the clickety flimsiness of the Bessa R2. 

For me, it was a Goldilocks 35mm experience–just automatic enough to be easy while still feeling engrossed in the process. Of course, the host of M-mount lenses play a big part in that experience. Perhaps my favorite lens to keep on the Hexar was my 35mm f/2.8 Zeiss Biogon. The f/2.8 is the slimmest of the ZM Biogon lenses but remains to be of the utmost build quality. 

Many favorite photos of mine were taken with the Hexar, but as I write this, the camera has found its way into the home of another hobbyist film photographer. Why so? 

Leaving the Hexar Behind

Two predominant factors led to the Hexar’s exit from my camera collection. The first was the introduction of a Pentax camera, and the second was a renewed fervor for watch collecting. This article is not a review of either the Pentax or any watch, but I’ll briefly explain the impact of each.

Having heard of the illustrious qualities of the Limited lenses produced by Pentax in the late ‘90s, I decided to search out a pristine copy of the 43mm f/1.9. Given the lens is autofocus, I decided it needed to be paired with an AF camera. I landed on the Pentax ZX-5N/MZ-5N after dismissing the MZ-S on account of it being damn ugly and too big and too digital. Long story short, I adore this combination and it quickly became my preferred camera and lens. 

Now in August 2020–five months after acquiring my Hexar RF–I found myself with a revitalized interest in mechanical watches. In earlier years, I had been content with a Seiko SKX013 and a vintage Mido Commander President Daydate. Both were solid watches, but the Seiko was no longer exciting to me and the Mido was just a bit too far on the vintage side of things. Another long story short, in September I acquired a NOMOS Club Campus Night after selling all of my other watches and some camera gear. 

By August 2021, I found myself compelled to somehow get my hands on an Oris Aquis Date. I had tried the watch on in 2020, but never pulled the trigger. Looking at my poor Hexar RF sitting on the shelf having not been used since June and continually losing out to the Pentax when times came to grab a camera as I headed out the door, I decided it would have to be sacrificed on the watch alter. 

So out went the Hexar and in came a beautiful Oris Aquis Date 39.5 with the so-called Mint Green dial. I have to say, as much as it pains me to say this in a Casual Photophile article, that I do not regret the swap. I suppose, after all, I really am just a casual photophile. 

Concluding Thoughts

My camera collection is at present the smallest it’s been in years. I have just four film cameras: my Pentax ZX-5N, my Olympus Pen FT, my Fujifilm GA645, and my Hasselblad 501c. Coincidentally, as my camera collection has dwindled, my watch collection has swelled. 

Part of the fun of being a casual photophile is trying lots of cameras for the heck of it. And tried many I have! But another satisfying realization for me in the past year and a half has been refining my sense of what I really want in a camera and being satisfied with that preference.

It turns out I really like SLRs and I really like small cameras. The Pentax ended up being the camera for me, and now I get to shoot it with a watch I adore around my wrist. Luckily, the Hexar is in the capable hands of Kirk, a photographer from Pennsylvania. Maybe it will be the camera for him–or maybe he’ll swap it with something he loves more. 

Shop for your own Konica Hexar RF 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 Reviewing My Time with the Konica Hexar RF appeared first on Casual Photophile.

It’s a seventy-year-old work of mechanical art from an historic photography brand. It’s solidly made, with a capable lens and interesting features. Its methodology is at first strange and obtuse, yet extended use reveals its charm. And it also provides that most elusive of all qualities in today’s world of classic camera appreciation – it’s affordable! Yes, the Graphic 35 was made for these pages.

Brief History of Graflex

For fifty years prior to the release of the Graphic 35, Graflex had been known for their medium format and large format cameras, specifically their famous press cameras, which were the standard for much of the world’s press throughout the first half of the 20th century. By 1955, when the Graphic 35 debuted, the brand had lost many of its customers to smaller, easier-to-use photographic tools. Despite this decline, Graflex was an important name in photography for some of the craft’s most formative decades and their history deserves a look.

Founded in New York City in 1887 by William Folmer and William Schwing as the Folmer and Schwing Manufacturing Company, the company that would be called Graflex produced metalworks including gas light fixtures and chandeliers. As the market for gas lighting declined, the company ramped up manufacturing of bicycles, and in 1899 they released their first Graflex camera. As the camera achieved success, the company dropped its non-photographic manufacturing lines to focus on cameras.

In 1905 the Folmer and Schwing manufacturing Company was acquired by George Eastman, founder of Kodak, and in 1907 it became the Folmer Graflex Division of Eastman Kodak and the works were transferred to Kodak’s hometown of Rochester, New York. There Kodak would continue to produce Graflex press cameras for a number of years.

In 1926, violations by Kodak of the Sherman Anti-Trust Act of 1890 meant that Kodak was forced to divest itself of a number of business concerns, one of which was Graflex. Graflex, Inc. was subsequently operated under independent ownership until 1968, when it was sold to Singer Corporation (of sewing machine fame), who continued Graflex, Inc. operations until 1973, when the brand was finally wound down and all tooling sold to the Japanese view-camera manufacturer Toyo Corporation.

Throughout this period, Graflex created some amazing press cameras. The Graflex and Graphic range of machines were used by some of the greatest press photographers, who created many of the most iconic press images of the first half of the 20th century with Graflex cameras. In fact, no other camera manufacturer can claim as many Pulitzer Prizes as Graflex.

Notable users of the Graflex and Graphic press cameras include Dorothea Lang, Arthur Fellig (more popularly known as Weegee), Ansel Adams, Margaret Bourke-White, and Louis Mendes (among countless others).

The Graphic 35 in Its Own Time

The Graphic 35 is very different from the cameras that Graflex is most known for producing. Where their press cameras were large and serious and required attention and expertise to use effectively, the Graphic 35 was comparatively small and streamlined, and intended for use by amateur or enthusiast photographers.

When the Graphic 35 was conceived in 1955, photography was rapidly shifting from a complicated art form into a hobby for everyone. Cameras were becoming easier to use and less specialized, and photography was suddenly a way for people to easily and beautifully document their lives in an optimistic, forward-facing, post-war recovering, baby-booming 1950s America. Camera companies were rounding the edges off of their machines (figuratively speaking) and creating cameras that the average mom or dad could point at their kids, set a few dials (usually color-coded or marked with fool-proof indicators) and snap a shot for the family photo album.

The Graphic 35 was this sort of camera. Except, unlike some competition from Kodak or West-German companies, the Graphic 35 balanced its functionality more evenly. It wasn’t so simple as to be limiting as some of the consumer-level Kodaks were, and it wasn’t too complicated to scare buyers away.

The Graphic 35 was a camera which took elements of successful past cameras and combined them with attention-grabbing innovations (I won’t call them gimmicks). In some ways, it was a traditional camera with cost-saving compromises such as the rangefinder focusing viewer remaining unintegrated within the main finder, as found on many older cameras. But it also included innovative features like its push-button focusing mechanism and fool-proof Spectramatic Flash System, and front-mounted shutter release lever. These innovative features were heavily promoted by the Graflex marketing team as ergonomic godsends.

In addition to this excellent balance of usability and capability, the Graphic 35 was one of the best values in photography at the time of its release. Costing just $77 for the version equipped with the 50mm F/3.5 lens and $98 for the faster F/2.8 lens, it was one of the most affordable full-featured 35mm film rangefinder-focusing cameras in production at that time.

The result of the camera’s combination of respectable performance, eye-catching new features and reasonable price was as we’d expect; it was popular. In just tree years of production, the Graphic 35 sold approximately 68,000 units.

Graflex Graphic 35 Specifications

• Film Type : 35mm film
• Shutter : Prontor SVS leaf shutter, speeds B, 1, 1/2, 1/5, 1/10, 1/25, 1/50, 1/100, 1/300
• Lens : Two fixed lenses available – 50mm F/3.5 Graflar; 50mm F/2.8 Graflar; both lenses color-corrected and coated
• Filters : 31.5mm diameter screw on filters
• Focusing : Coupled split image rangefinder with push button focusing (patented Visi-ready Footage Scale)
• Viewfinder : Two finders – one for focusing and one for composing
• Flash Capability : X Sync at all shutter speeds; M bulbs at all speeds; M2 bulbs up to 1/50th
• Self Timer : Yes
• Cable Release Socket : Yes
• Tripod Mount : Yes
• Frame Counter : Yes

Notes on the Innovators

The Graflex marketing team honed in on two innovative control mechanisms found in the Graphic 35 and featured those innovations prominently in their marketing material. These were the push-button focusing system and the Spectramatic Flash System.

The focusing mechanism is particularly interesting. Many traditional focusing methods involve spinning the camera’s lens, which turns on a helicoid and moves the optical group closer to or further from the film plane. But the Graflex Graphic 35 replaces this system with a pair of sympathetic levers to the left and right of the lens. By pushing one or the other inward, the lens extends from or retracts into the camera body. The system has a corresponding dial atop the lens mount which shows the focusing range precisely. This allows the user to either scale focus at a glance, or for more precision, to look through the rangefinder window to the coupled split-image rangefinder patch. When the images within the rangefinder window align, the subject is in focus.

This focusing system was invented by a Graflex employee participating in a development program which Graflex created in an effort to drive innovation within the company. Graflex employees could submit an idea, and if it proved useful or valuable, the company would pay a bonus to the inventor and officially submit the patent.

The push-button focusing method was created by a man named Louis Traino, who worked as an instrument maker in Graflex’s experimental shop. He developed the focusing system during his off-hours at his family home, presented it to the company, and was awarded a $4,000 prize when his invention was integrated into Graflex cameras. For reference, that $4,000 is approximately $40,000 today. In a newspaper clipping from the time, the Traino family said that they intended to use the award money to buy a house. Mr. Traino’s wife was reported to insist that their new house should have a dedicated workshop for her husband. (This is so cute.)

I’ve included the patent documents for Mr. Traino’s invention below.

The Spectramatic Flash System was another new innovation found in the Graphic 35. Graflex’s Director of Engineering, Vernon Whitman, came up with an idea for simplifying flash photography by using color coded bands which would tell the photographer which aperture to use depending on distance to subject and flash guide number.

After setting the guide number for the flash being used, the photographer focuses on his or her subject and observes the color represented on the focusing scale. After that, the photographer simply selects the aperture with the matching color.

It’s a very simple system, when explained, but it was still confusing to many users and dealers at the time of the Graphic’s release. For this reason, push-button focusing remained the camera’s most emphasized feature.

I’ve included the patent documents for the flash system below.

The Graphic 35 Today

I used my Graflex Graphic 35 in 2021; that’s 66 years after someone in Rochester tightened the final screw and packed it in a box to be shipped to a camera shop. Cameras have come a long way in those 66 years, and yet the Graphic 35 remains a lot of great things, things that we still value in a camera today.

It’s compact. It’s dense. It’s beautiful. It’s well-made and works like magic. Its knobs and dials and switches and levers actuate with precision, emitting the whirrs and clicks and thwicks that mechanical-thing-likers live for. In an earlier article, I called the Zeiss Contina a “clockwork camera” (a term that other bloggers and YouTubers have adopted despite a conspicuous absence of royalty checks). The Graphic 35 is similarly clock-like.

Its die-cast body is elegant and concise, and its satin-finished metal is smooth and pretty. The removable back is thick and weighty, and its scratch-free pressure plate is lovely. Knurling on its controls is precise and fine. The leatherette is a gorgeous grey-tone covering which perfectly complements the satin-finish metal. The tiny, blue Graflex logo is mesmerizing for idiots, like me, who love three-dimensional decorative embellishments. (Have you seen the Linhoff crest?)

The film advance is controlled via a knob, which was already old fashioned in the Graphic 35’s own time, and slower than a wind lever. In addition, film advance is not coupled to the shutter, so cocking the shutter must be done independent of film advance. This, more than any other unusual feature (push-button focus, front-mounted shutter release lever) slowed me down. I simply wasn’t used to this intermediate step between film advance and firing a shot. On the plus side, I got used to it within a couple of rolls and the problem evaporated. Another angle – this methodology means that multiple exposures are possible at any time – simply re-cock and fire the shutter without winding the film.

The push-button focusing system, new and strange when it debuted 66 years ago, is still new and strange. Throughout my first roll of film, focusing was slower than with a traditional focusing helicoid as I adapted to the methodology. By my second roll of film, focusing felt natural and I no longer found myself thinking about the process. By my third roll, focusing was (perhaps) very slightly quicker than when spinning a lens.

Scale focusing works great, but in instances in which I needed more precision, a quick glance through the separate rangefinder focusing window allowed near instant focus lock. Like any other rangefinder camera, focus is achieved when the image in the split image viewfinder lines up. It’s easy and fast, despite the requirement to focus in one finder and compose in another.

Do I wish the rangefinder patch was integrated into the main viewfinder? Of course! Many cameras of the Graphic 35’s era were doing just that (the Konica fixed lens rangefinders of this period are a personal favorite). But the Graphic’s disposition toward the older two-finder system isn’t a deal breaker. It works fine and becomes second nature in time (that said, second nature is still not first…).

The most useful practical takeaway on the focusing system would be the observation that when my film was developed I hadn’t missed focus on more photos in a roll than I would have with a traditional focusing system. I missed a few shots, but that wasn’t the system’s fault – I would’ve missed them on any other camera as well due to subject movement, or my bad eyesight, or because a mosquito buzzed my ear just before snapping the shot, or because of any other of a number of factors which make us human.

I’ve heard it said that for a new technology or a new way of doing something that has long been done through other established methods to gain widespread adoption and success, that new technology or way of doing things cannot be only as good as the old technology or old way. It must be unquestionably better. It must be cheaper to manufacture, or provide a far improved user experience or yield measurably better results. This focusing system isn’t better than other focusing systems. It’s as good, when we get used to it, sure. But it’s not better.

And it’s because of this, perhaps, that push-button focusing is found on very few cameras (literally, about four in the history of photography). Whether this reticence for adoption or replication by other brands is simply because it was a patented system and companies didn’t want to pay the patent holders to use it on their own cameras, or because it’s simply not good enough I won’t venture to guess. But I think I know.

If you’re looking for my final judgement regarding push-button focusing on the Graphic 35, I’ve got you.

It works fine. Don’t be scared of it.

The Spectramatic Flash system, ignored by the casual photographer in its own time, will be similarly ignored today (likely more so). I rarely use a flash, and most vintage camera shooters are similarly flash-averse. I so completely doubt that anyone reading this review will actually use their Graphic 35’s flash system that I’m done typing about it.

My version is equipped with the 50mm F/2.8 Graflar prime lens. It’s the faster of the two available lenses, and its coated to resist flares and punch up clarity. The lenses of the Graphic 35 were manufactured by one of two German firms, Rodenstock or Enna Werk (the exact manufacturing details are lost, but both of these suppliers were contracted by Graflex to produce their lenses). Mine is marked with an “R” to signify Rodenstock manufacture. Whichever version comes attached to your Graphic is fine. There will be no appreciable difference in images made by one compared to the other. If you need the extra stop of light gathering (if, say, you love shooting at night), get the F/2.8.

Shots through this lens and the German Prontor SVS leaf shutter, are sharp and contrasty. Edge image quality is naturally softer than it is in the center, but as we stop the aperture down the image sharpens up beautifully. Shot wide open and focused on a close subject, we can get some decent bokeh that, while not being creamy smooth, does have some nice character. Focus fall-off is gradual and fluid.

Simply put, this lens produces beautiful, vintage-styled photographs. Those who enjoy classic lenses will find nothing about which to complain.

Final Thoughts

The Graflex Graphic 35, as mentioned in my opening, is the kind of camera for which I created Casual Photophile. It costs almost nothing today, and it’s worth every penny (it would be worth twice the pennies, actually). It’s an unusual camera. It’s a nice looking camera. It feels great in the hands and makes all the right sounds. It’s unlike anything else that you could’ve bought new in the past sixty years.

On top of all of the tactile and cerebral stimulation that the Graphic 35 provides, it’s also quite simply a capable camera. Capable of taking great photos. Capable of keeping me interested. Capable of making me smile. I really like it, and if you’re like me you’ll like it, too.

Get your own Graflex Graphic 35 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.]

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