Towers of smoke reached into the sky above the Imperial Gardens as American automobiles burned on the ground. American military men were hurled into the castle moat and stoned. Policemen were battered with sticks and rocks and pro-communist placards. Warning shots were fired into the sky. Two protestors were shot and killed, and dozens more were badly injured.

The day would come to be known in Japan as Bloody May Day, a day which would eventually lead to the formation of a new and long-lasting U.S.-Japan Alliance, and (importantly for the scope of this publication) a handful of new and unusual film cameras.

Bloody May Day

The May 1st protests began peacefully, with concerned elements of the Japanese citizenry converging on the Imperial Gardens to protest the signing of the Security Treaty between the United States and Japan just days earlier. This treaty had laid out the conditions for ending the American Occupation of Japan that followed World War II, and established a path to restoring Japan’s sovereignty as a nation.

The agreement dictated that Japan would allow the United States to maintain military bases on Japanese soil even after the end of the Occupation. It prohibited Japan from offering the same service to any other foreign power, and stipulated that the United States could launch any military action from Japan-based forces without any need to consult the Japanese government. It further failed to mention any requirement that U.S. forces defend Japan if Japan were attacked. Most troubling for many Japanese, the treaty had no expiration date nor did it mention any mechanism by which an expiration date could be created.

Following the events of Bloody May Day in 1952, and through the work of many other peaceful and non-peaceful protests, and with the help of a massive anti-military base movement that arose in Japan throughout the 1950s, a new treaty was finally negotiated beginning in 1957. By 1959 the negotiations had concluded and the new Treaty of Mutual Cooperation and Security between the United States and Japan was signed in January, 1960.

This new agreement was far more equitable from a Japanese perspective. It committed the United States to defend Japan in the event of an attack, it required prior consultation with the Japanese government before any U.S. forces could be dispatched from Japan-based military bases, and it specified an expiration date ten years hence. After ten years, the treaty could be abrogated by either party.

Though not without its fair share of detractors, the new agreement was successful in mitigating many of Japan’s greatest concerns surrounding the U.S.-Japan alliance, and paved the way for the long-standing cooperation that has existed between the two countries for over sixty years.

Now Let’s Talk About the Cameras

During the Bloody May Day riot, many police officers were injured while attempting to photograph the protestors and the riot. It can be assumed that the police were photographing the protestors for purposes of identification or to create a record of evidence to be used in future legal proceedings. Whatever their purpose, the police were taking pictures of the crowd, and the crowd noticed.

The protestors quickly adopted a policy of destruction of any camera employed in photographing the riot.

In a Nippon Times newspaper clipping we can read an eye-witness account by someone named Stuart Griffin, who writes of being “in the thick of the violent outburst.” He describes the usual riotous scenes that we’re all so unfortunately still accustomed to today – inflamed crowds and flaming cars, smashed windows, the stumbling body-press of humanity writhing and grappling.

He also describes witnessing the destruction of cameras.

“The rioters tried to prevent cameramen from photographing the vehicles in flames. One cameraman narrowly escaped from having his camera smashed by a unionist […]” [Source]

Police officers photographing the scenes of May 1st necessarily had their faces pressed against the viewfinders of their cameras. They had their hands full. They were operating at a disadvantage, unable to give their full attention to the violence around them and often suffered injuries because of it.

Japanese camera companies had, in fact, already researched the development of pistol-shaped cameras in the late 1940s, as a means for police officers to catch photographic evidence of criminal behavior in real time. But their design was so specialized and their use-case so niche that full development of a pistol-shaped camera had not been a priority. After the events of Bloody May Day, this changed.

Suddenly the police forces of Japan were pressing camera-makers for a solution to the problem of the bulky, traditional camera for in-the-field police work. They wanted a camera which could be used quickly, without the need to hold the camera up to the user’s eye, and a camera which could be easily stored into a belt holster when not in use. It seemed that the pistol camera’s day had come.

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Pistol Camera Makers and Notable Models

Prior to Bloody May Day, a number of Japanese camera companies had been toying with development of pistol-shaped cameras. These include the Gemmy and the Seiki 16 Pistol Camera, which were both made around 1950. Another pistol-shaped camera, the Doryu 1, was well-known as a prototype, however it was never produced in numbers due to reliability issues.

After the events of Bloody May Day, the pistol camera became a more well-developed product, the two most successful of which were the Mamiya pistol camera, which was officially called Mamiya Fast-Action Camera (Pistol Shape), and the competing Doryu 2-16.

Let’s start with the Doryu.

The Doryu 2-16 was an ingenious photographic device. It came with an f/2.7 standard lens (and allowed for interchangeable cine-mount lenses) and it exposed 16mm film. The flash magazine was contained in the handle of the “gun” and could hold six magnesium-filled flash cartridges. Pulling the trigger would fire the shutter and light the magnesium flash cartridge on the top of the camera. A photo would be made and a crime (supposedly) recorded.

The Doryu 2-16 failed to find success. The Doryu looked a bit too much like a firearm, and the authorities of the time feared that this might frighten people and lead to unfortunate situations. In addition, development pf the Doryu 2-16 took too long, and by the time it was finally ready for use the Japanese police forces had essentially adopted the Mamiya Pistol Camera as their model of choice. Before they’d sold their first camera, the Doryu 2-16 had lost its customers.

The company decided to attempt to market the Doryu 2-16 to civilian customers, however the highly-specialized design meant that it sold in very low numbers. Doryu 2-16 production was quickly halted. This has lead to a very high valuation of surviving Doryu 2-16 cameras among collectors, with some Doryu 2-16 cameras selling for over $10,000 at recent auction.

1905 Ticka Watch Camera - An In-Depth Look

There's this guy I know; one of those old-timey photo geeks that have seen it all and own most of it. He's got hundreds of cameras. Gold-plated Leicas that weren't available to the public, French cameras nobody's ever heard of... and this. A Ticka Pocket Watch Camera.

The Mamiya Pistol Camera was the most successful pistol-shaped camera. It was designed by Miyabe Hajimu, Mamiya’s chief designer at the time, in a design process that took just six months. Unlike the Doryu 2-16, the Mamiya Pistol Camera uses 35mm film in standard cassettes to shoot exposures measuring 18 x 24mm. The film is advanced manually via a lever, which also cocks the shutter. The shutter is released by the traditional pistol-style trigger. Aperture and shutter speed are controlled by a single ring around the lens barrel (using the EV system).

Through clever positioning of the camera’s controls, it’s possible for the user to shoot an entire roll of film using only one hand. Its compact size and included holster made it an ideal choice. Plus, it looked much less like a traditional firearm compared to the Doryu 2-16.

By 1954, the Mamiya Pistol Camera had become standard equipment for every police headquarters in every Japanese prefect. However, estimates claim that production totaled only 300 units, and many Mamiya Pistol Cameras were scrapped in the following decades. This has lead to valuations as high as the similarly rare Doryu 2-16. One Mamiya Pistol Camera sold at recent auction for close to $13,000.

Fate of the Pistol Camera

Pistol cameras were born out of tragedy, created to better prosecute criminals and to protect police officers working in harm’s way. But their real-world utility is questionable.

Like the Pocketwatch Camera and the Mamiya Camera Clock, that I’ve written about previously, Pistol Cameras were highly specialized, extremely niche cameras. Predictably, the pistol-shaped camera did not last as a photographic tool. It appeared in the early 1950s in Japan and then quickly and quietly went extinct.

And, to be fair, that’s probably a good thing. Perhaps cameras that look like guns was never a very good idea.

Search eBay for the ultra-rare Mamiya Fast Action Pistol Camera

Search eBay for the even rarer Doryu 2-16 Pistol Camera

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The Mamiya Watcher A is a 35mm Film Surveillance Camera Built Into a Clock

James has been the victim of a heinous theft. In today's article he uses the Mamiya Watcher A to capture the criminal.

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The Purma Camera company was founded in 1935 by British painter and commercial poster artist, Tom Purvis, and inventor, Alfred Croger Mayo with funding provided by David Brock of Brock Fireworks. The company was formed in London with the intent to build a camera around a unique focal plane shutter concept designed by Mayo in 1933. The name “Purma” is an amalgam of the last names of both Purvis and Mayo.

Tom Purvis was a renowned artist and the “Pur” in “Purma”. Image courtesy https://www.npg.org.uk.

At the time of Mayo’s first shutter patent, there were no inexpensive options for focal plane shutters. The few cameras that had them such as the Leica, Contax, or Graflex Speed Graphic used complicated cloth, or in the case of the Contax, metal drum systems in which a spring tensioned curtain would open and close a specific amount of time before a second curtain which set the shutter speed. Although these shutters worked well, they required a high level of precision and were expensive to build and sell.

Mayo came up with the idea of a focal plane shutter that used two curved metal curtains both with rectangular openings which allowed light to pass through them. The inner curtain was connected to a rotating brass weight, that depending on its orientation, would change the inner curtain’s position, creating a slit between it and the outer curtain. This allowed for three different sized openings that would allow an increasing amount of light through, depending on the orientation of the camera. At the fastest speed, the slit was about 1/16″ wide, 1/8″ at the medium speed, and 1/2″ at the slowest speed. The wider the slit, the more light came through.

The brass weight served a second purpose as its weight also affected the speed at which the curtains would move. With the camera held sideways in the slow speed position, the weight was nearest the ground. When firing the shutter, it would have to move up against the force of gravity. This motion would slow down the movement of the shutter curtains, resulting in a shutter speed of approximately 1/25. With the camera held sideways in the fast speed position, the weight was nearest the top so that firing the shutter would cause it to fall with the force of gravity, speeding up the movement of the shutter curtains, resulting in a shutter speed of approximately 1/450. Finally, an in between speed could be obtained with the camera held horizontally where the brass weight neither had to overcome gravity or being assisted by it, resulting in a shutter speed of approximately 1/150.

US Patent number 2134309 shows the design of what would become the Purma Special.

Despite its unorthodox design, Mayo’s shutter worked really well and because of its simplicity, was very reliable. Barring physical damage, the shutters found on these cameras rarely failed. Another benefit to the simple design was that it could be produced cheaply. Most of the parts were made of stamped metal, not requiring any precision machining like in more complex focal plane shutters. The number of individual parts was kept to a minimum requiring less raw materials. Finally, since speeds were changed automatically based on the orientation of the camera, no additional parts like a shutter speed dial were required, further keeping costs low.

The first camera to use Mayo’s shutter was the Purma Speed, which had an all metal body with a two-element lens and a flip-up viewfinder. It used the same three speed shutter explained above, but added a knob on the top plate of the camera that altered the width of the slit at each of the three positions, adding three extra speeds, bringing the total to six speeds. The Purma Speed was inexpensively priced at 35 shilling, and used 127 “Vest Pocket” roll film which allowed for 16 square exposures at a cost of 1 shilling per roll. The decision to shoot square exposures was to prevent changing the aspect ratio of each image as you rotated the camera to select different speeds. No matter how you oriented the camera, you would always get a square exposure.

The first Purma camera was the Speed, which had an all metal body and used Mayo’s unique gravity shutter. Image courtesy https://twitter.com/soperfectimages.

A year after its release, a second camera called the Purma Special made its debut. The Purma Special used the same three speed shutter as the Purma Speed, but lost the two range dial on the top, limiting it to only three speeds. The lens was now a three-element f/6.3 Beck anastigmat. The inner lens elements were said to be “bloomed” which I interpret to mean some form of early lens coating, to reduce flare. The flip-up viewfinder was replaced by a through-the-body direct vision viewfinder.

The most significant change was a new body, entirely made of Bakelite, and with a distinct shape that was wider in the center than the edges. Many sources online credit the design of the body to famous French-American industrial designer Raymond Loewy, but according to Richard Jemmett’s The Purma Camera Book, no evidence exists that Lowey ever had anything to do with the camera, at least not directly. Lowey did have a London office at the time the Purma Special was being built, so it’s plausible that credit was given to them to help make the camera more fashionable, but a better explanation was that company founder Tom Purvis had a hand in its design. Purvis was already a well respected artist, having created posters used by the London and North Eastern Railways, and competing in art competitions at both the 1928 and 1932 Summer Olympics, so it stands to reason that he had a lot to say in its art deco design.

The Purma Special was exported to the United States and sold for the modest price of $14.75.

The Purma Special proved to be very popular, both in England and in other countries. The camera was exported to the United States and sold in January 1939 for $14.75 which when adjusted for inflation, compares to about $275 today.

Today, opinions are strongly divided among collectors in regards to the Purma Special. Some fondly remember it as the first camera owned by their parents or grandparents growing up, but others chastise it for it’s strange appearance and operation. Although the Purma shutter is simple enough that it rarely fails, Bakelite is fragile and there’s more than a few Purma Specials out there with cracked bodies.

Whichever your opinion, this is a very unique camera with a fascinating design, that similarly to the rotating focal plane shutter in the Univex Mercury CC, showed that some camera designers were willing to think outside of the box to create something new that worked well, and could be made cheaply.

Shooting the Purma Special Today

I had wanted to try a Purma Special for quite some time, but it was never a priority for me until one day while talking to James, he asked if I would be interested in reviewing the camera. He sent me this camera with a couple filters and told me to keep it when I was done.

When the camera arrived, it was both bigger and lighter than I had expected. Weighing a total of 340 grams, the camera is lightweight but not small enough to fit into a shirt pocket. With the body’s angled edges and lens collapsed, it slides nicely in and out of a camera bag or small purse, but don’t drop it as the Bakelite body is fragile and will likely crack.

The Purma Special is about as simple as it gets. In fact, the top plate is where you’ll find everything you need to control the camera. The button inside of the tear drop recess is the shutter release, in the middle is the shutter cocking lever, and finally, the film advance knob. The Purma Special uses 127 roll film, so there’s no need to rewind film, it has a focus free lens, a single aperture, and shutter speeds are controlled by rotating the camera.

A word of caution about the cocking lever is that when it is time to make an exposure, pressing the shutter release causes this lever to quickly fly back to its uncocked position. It is critical that nothing obstructs the motion of this lever, as any contact with your hand will throw off the shutter’s motion which will mess up your exposure.

The bottom of the camera has absolutely nothing on it, not even a tripod socket. Without a Bulb or Time shutter mode and no real slow speeds, there really wouldn’t be a good reason to put the Purma Special on a tripod, but it’s worth noting. A tripod socket was added to the later Purma Plus, despite it offering the same three speeds as the Special.

The back of the camera has two round red windows which are both used for exposure numbers on the film’s paper backing. The Purma Special produces sixteen images that are 32mm wide which no 127 film has numbers for, so you must use the numbers one through eight twice, once in each window. Your first exposure is made with the number one in the left window. For the second, turn the advance knob until the number one is in the right window and make your second exposure. For your third, the number two is in the left window, and your fourth is when the number two is in the right window. Keep doing this until after the 16th exposure, which is made with the number eight in the right window.

The eye piece is square and has the words “Fast” and “Slow” written on the sides, which is there as a reminder of how to orient the camera for it’s different speeds. Fast is 1/450 second and slow is 1/25 second. Although it is not indicated, holding the camera normally, results in a medium 1/150 speed. Each of these three speeds are rough estimates, but are likely good enough for the latitude of most film that would have been used in the camera.

View through the Purma Special’s viewfinder.

The film door is not hinged and is held on by two clips on either side. Removing it is just a matter of pulling it off. The Purma has no light seals, but this doesn’t seem to be a problem as I didn’t encounter any light leaks while shooting it. Film travels from left to right onto standard 127 spools across a curved film plane.

Inside the film door is a small pressure plate that doesn’t quite cover the entire film gate, but obviously did a good enough job that the designers of the camera didn’t need to make it any bigger. You’ll also notice the word “Top” etched into the metal indicating how the door must be put back on the camera.

An interesting feature about the Purma Special that’s not obvious is that the two red windows are removable. When this camera was sold new, it would have come with these two red windows, and a second set of green windows which were to be used with certain panchromatic films. These additional windows are rarely found with Purma Specials as they were very easily misplaced.

Another easily lost accessory for the Purma Special was its threaded lens cap. In normal use, the camera’s lens is spring loaded and sticks out of the body of the camera by about an inch, but when not in use, the cap was designed to keep the lens retracted into the body. This not only helped make the camera more compact, but with the lens cap on, the shutter release would also become locked, protecting the camera from accidental exposures.

The viewfinder is two simple pieces of plastic that provide a square image which is useful as rotating the camera between “portrait” and “landscape” orientations doesn’t actually change the aspect ratio of the square image. According to R.W. Jemmett’s book, the Purma Special was the first camera to ever use plastic optics in the viewfinder.

The Purma Special is clearly a simple camera, designed to strip photography down to it’s barest form, making it accessible to as many people as possible. Handling the camera, the camera definitely is simple, and knowing for how long these cameras were produced, they clearly found a customer base, but what are they like to use? Fans of the Argus C3 will tell you the camera produces much better images than its appearance suggests, but can the same be said about the Purma Special?

As I normally do when it comes time to test a 127 camera, I tap into my limited supply of a German film called Supre-Tone that as best as I can tell was made in the 1960s. I am convinced that this orange wrapped 127 film has traveled through time as the every roll of it I’ve shot seems to have defied aging. Although originally rated at ASA 50, I’ve shot it at box speed and at 25 and it seems to come out at both speeds.

When shooting old cameras, you can never be too sure of what kinds of results you’ll get before you actually shoot it. Sometimes highly regarded cameras can disappoint you, and other times extremely basic cameras can pleasantly surprise you. The Purma Special falls in the latter category. While I had an inkling that the results from this strange camera would be decent, I was pleasantly surprised to see a whole roll of properly exposed and reasonably sharp negatives as I pulled the roll of Supre-Tone film from my Paterson tank.

As it turned out, a film speed of 50 was a perfect match for this camera. The camera’s three shutter speeds allowed me to capture both a sunlit lake, and the inside of a covered bridge with enough latitude so as not to blow out the highlights or reduce shadow detail into a murky mess. I would be willing to bet I could have pushed it to 100, but I wouldn’t wanted to go much beyond that without having to make adjustments in developing.

Closing Thoughts

I really enjoyed my time with the Purma and found the simplicity of its controls refreshing. It is a lot faster to rotate the body of a camera to change its shutter speed than fiddle with a small dial or ring around a lens. Its focus free operation meant that as long as I stayed at least ten feet away from my subject, I did not need to be concerned with focus.

I had only two nitpicks with the camera. The first is that the shutter is quite loud when it fires. The internal mechanism makes a loud clang at the end of each exposure. This is not a camera that you’d want to try and shoot where you need to be discreet. The second is that the cocking lever flies back to its original position upon firing the shutter, so you must take care to keep your fingers away from it as the shutter is released. If anything obstructs this lever, it will throw off your exposure.

For amateur photographers in the UK during the twenty some odd years Purma cameras were made, Alfred Croger Mayo’s design proved to be a great success. Although strange in design, Purma cameras were extremely simple to use and did an above average job of producing quality images, worthy of enlargement. For the collector today, their simplicity means most should still be in good working order, and the good sharpness with strong vignetting of the Beck Anastigmat lens produces wonderfully vintage looking prints.

I liked the Purma Special more than I thought I would. My biggest wish is that 127 film was easier to come by, as I think that if I had more film options, I would shoot this camera more. Purma Specials are not common in the United States, but they do show up on occasion. Regardless of where you live, it should not cost a lot to add one to your collection, so if you have the chance, I highly recommend it!

Get your own Purma Special here

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The post Purma Special – Guest Review by Mike Eckman appeared first on Casual Photophile.

Joshua from Flints has taken the time to hand-pick these few gems from an astounding assortment of truly incredible cameras and rare lenses that will be on the block tomorrow. I’ll let Joshua take it from here. Enjoy!

An Introduction

Hello there. I’m Joshua, from Flints. A few years ago, holding a black paint Leica M3 in my hands or shooting with a Hasselblad 500 C/M was the stuff of dreams. Then I began my career with Flints Auctions and truly discovered the meaning of the rare and the strange.

At Flints we specialize in the valuation and sale of photographic equipment, among other areas of expertise, and resultantly come across some of the most incredible photographic tools to have ever been created. As each camera, lens, and accessory are collected from around the world before each of our auctions, we begin the process of cataloging. That is, to sort, value, describe, and photograph each and every item into a lot that is then assigned a number before being listed in the auction catalogue. 

It’s during this time that we get to do something extraordinary. We get to test the cameras to check their state of function. Here are some of the most unusual and exciting items we have coming up in our next auction of Fine Photographica on Thursday the 19th of November at 12:00 GMT. We look forward to seeing you there and as always, happy bidding. 

Ilford Witness with Dallmeyer Super Six Lens

The Ilford Witness is a legendary tool of precision, and with the Dallmeyer Super Six 50mm f/1.9 lens is an incredibly rare combination to see. It is thought that only 350 Ilford Witnesses were ever made. There were two other ‘standard’ lenses that were offered with the Witness: the collapsible Daron 5cm f/2.9, and the Dallmeyer 2” f/1.5 Septac. The Dallmeyer Super Six alone fetches prices of over £6,000. This Ilford Witness is valued at between £8,000 and £10,000. With the finely-made camera paired with a lens renowned for its characteristic bokeh, we are sure the buyer will be delighted.

A Leica M6 ‘Sultan of Brunei’ Rangefinder Camera

This camera was made for the Sultan of Brunei’s silver jubilee to his accession of the throne. One of only 350 units produced for the celebration, this uncommon Leica M6 with a matching golden Summilux 50mm lens is a must have for any serious Leica collector. The camera comes in the original makers display box with a matching golden Leica Summilux 50mm. The camera is number 178 of the 350 produced. Valued at between £15,000 and £20,000.

A Nikon FA Gold ‘Grand Prix ’84’ SLR Camera

If you’re looking for a more affordable but just as beautiful objet d’art then this Nikon FA, clad in gold, is on offer at between a more feasible £500 and £700. Two thousand units of this camera were produced in 1984; this is number 1955. The camera has a total of twenty body pieces 24K gold plated and a golden banded Nikon 50mm f/1.4 in addition. We think it looks magnificent. This comes, again, with all original makers display box, outer box, all accessories and even a supplied cleaning cloth for the gold plating. 

A Nikon SP Rangefinder Camera

The Nikon SP was released in 1957 as the professional Nikon model from Nikon’s lineup of 35mm rangefinder cameras. Regarded as the best variation made to date by Nikon collectors and shooters alike, it had built in frame lines for six focal lengths, titanium shutter blades, a new self timer, dual viewfinders for wide and telephoto lenses and underwent a complete overhaul of the camera dials to finish. This Nikon SP is still coated in the black paint from factory and sports a Nikkor-S-C 50mm f/1.4 lens, a real favourite of journalists in the 1950s and ’60s. 

The Canon f/0.95 50mm ‘Dream’ Lens

You’ve heard of this one before, but these famous lenses are becoming harder to find in excellent condition. The Canon 50mm f/0.95 ‘Dream’ lens produces results that speak for itself. With a a depth of field thinner than a hair, the images it makes can be dreamy and full of unique character  This one is valued at between £1,000 and £1,500 and comes with a Canon 7 35mm rangefinder camera that is also a pleasure to use in its own right. The lens is also adaptable to Leica M mount or other mirrorless mounts such as Sony E mount. 

A Nikon Reflex-Nikkor f/11 2000mm Lens

The Nikon 2000mm f/11 ultra-telephoto lens is truly a sight to behold. It is also a serious weight to carry around for any amount of time, weighing in at a massive 17.5kg, or 40lbs for our international friends. Made to order from 1970 onwards, this lens provides a staggering amount of magnification and would be used to capture distant wildlife and in other situations in which proximity to the subject is otherwise restricted. The lens by itself doesn’t really give it any sense of scale, so we attached a Nikon F SLR body to it for scale below.  

Linhof Technika-Flex 4×5 TLR Camera

This simply massive TLR, designed and manufactured by Linhof, is a both stylish and functional 4×5 TLR camera. This is one of the largest (and rarest) 4×5 TLRs that we have ever seen. This example comes with a Schneider Technika Tele-Arton f/5.5 270mm lens, and a Schnieder Technika Symmar f/5.6 150mm lens in addition. Valued at between £2,000 and £3,000.

Early Experimental ‘Mousetrap’ Camera

This is by far the most unusual and rarest of all of the lots for this upcoming auction and is quite honestly unlike anything that we have seen before. Whilst all of the other lots have their place deservedly in history, this ‘Mousetrap’ camera is part of the history of photography itself. Dating from c.1839, this camera is thought to be one of only seven known examples in the world and would have been used to make salt print negatives, similar to the images made by Fox Talbot, a pioneer of photography, as early as 1835. This experimental camera is valued at between £50,000 and £70,000 and is a truly once in a lifetime chance to own a piece of history. 

Affordable Mentions

Buying into vintage photography equipment doesn’t always have to be an expensive venture, below are two of our favourite lots for a photographer looking to change systems or move into 35mm film photography without having to be the Sultan of Brunei. 

This Nikon F2 from c.1977 comes with a 50mm f/1.4, 105mm f/2.5 and 200mm f/4, all AI variants. Ideal for portraits straight out of the box, this kit is valued at between £200 and £300. And if Leica has always been a brand you’ve wanted to try, this Leica M4 with a Leitz Elmar 50mm f/2.8 comes in at between £600 and £800 and is the perfect combination to start your Leica love affair. 

Many thanks to Joshua for sharing these photographic treasures with us. If you’d like to register to bid or simply window shop Flints’ gorgeous lots through their auction catalog, visit their site here.

We’ll have more from Joshua and Flints in the coming weeks and months, so please leave a comment below if there’s something in their catalog that you’d like to see featured here on Casual Photophile.

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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 Check Out These Amazing Items from Flints Auctions’ November 19th Catalog appeared first on Casual Photophile.

At one o’clock in the morning I’ve been driving for exactly eight hours, two hours longer than anticipated. I’m exhausted and hungry despite the evidentiary to the contrary detritus that litters every flat surface of my car’s interior – torn Clif Bar wrappers, crumpled packets of Sour Patch Kids, a Cheez-Its box splayed open like the gaping carcass of some sub-Saharan prey animal, its innards devoured. This is the unhealthiest I’ve felt in years.

The sweet singing voice of my cell phone’s navigation app tells me I’ve arrived, and after navigating a labyrinthine network of parking lots, I turn off the ignition. Surrounding me is a hellscape of unremarkable taupe buildings, all approximately four or five stories tall. Competing signage blinds me with dazzling light in the otherwise pitch dark night. Comfort Suites, Holiday Stay, Something About Paris Hilton? I should recognize the names of these hotel chains, but my mind is simply fried. I gather my bags and step out of the car for the first time in what seems an age, just as rain begins to patter the windshield. I’d worry over whether or not the Nikon Z7 is weatherproof if I wasn’t too tired to give a damn.

After standing silently at the bell-less check-in desk for nearly eight minutes, a half-conscious man blearily stumbles through a door behind the desk. He asks what he can do for me as he tucks in the front of the wrinkled tablecloth that he wears for a shirt. With bags in my hands and raindrops dripping down my face, I state the obvious. “I’m checking in.” After another ten minutes of keyboard tapping and a mutually confused problem-solving session that takes us both seven times as long as it should, we discover that I’ve stupidly wandered into the wrong hotel. Thirty minutes later I’m in a bed in a room in the correct hotel, trying to fall asleep.

I blink and it’s morning. I’m scheduled to meet Matt Stoffel in one hour. He’s the Kodak Brand Manager, Camera Club director, and general gatekeeper to all things Kodak. Along with my Casual Photophile colleague Chris Cushing and a handful of other film loving friends, Matt will lead me through the sprawling Kodak campus on a tour that includes unprecedented access to at least three separate factories, each producing raw materials or refining these materials into the finished products that we all love – Kodak film. During our tour we’ll meet the actual people who’ve been making Kodak film for decades, see the machines in action, and enjoy an intimate look at the figurative and literal nuts and bolts of what could rightly be described as the oldest and most important photographic products company in the world. This should be good.

Things start at the Kodak Center, where we pass through a rotating exhibit of Kodak history. During my trip, the exhibit is all about the Moon and space and Kodak’s contributions to NASA’s missions during the golden age of space exploration. The walls are covered in incredible photographs of the Moon and Mars, of the people who made and make space exploration possible, and new projects to image space in novel ways, all possible through Kodak products. Particularly mesmerizing is a collection of film strips laid out on a light table, the massive final composite image of the Moon made from the strips is displayed on the wall above. It’s impressive and beautiful.

A walk through the lobby reveals a timeline of Kodak’s countless accomplishments displayed through physical tokens. George Eastman’s star from the Holywood Walk of Fame, surrounded by velvet ropes. Poster-sized images of Quentin Tarantino and J.J. Abrams suggest that the best movies are shot on film. A glass cube contains the first ever digital camera, a Kodak product, reminding us that Kodak laid the foundations of digital photography way back in 1975. Disneyland commemorative products gleam, the ancestral result of George Eastman’s genius (he dreamed up corporate synergy and a global economy even as the primary mode of transportation was the horse). Classic Kodak film cameras from the heyday of the company are displayed everywhere. It’s a camera nerd’s paradise, but we’ve got to move. There is, after all, a schedule.

Our first stop is the factory where raw materials, such as silver and gelatin, are turned into emulsions, the gelatinous suspensions of light-sensitive particles that are laid in ultra-fine bands across a substrate to make photo-sensitive film. We meet a giant of a man, who tells us his nickname is Peachy, and after a brief primer on what we’re about to see, we’re told to don the proper attire. Tyvek clean suits and hairnets accent our disposable booties. We look like extremely out-of-shape Stormtroopers, excited and confused.

The areas we’re about to see, where the emulsions are made, where the coating of substrate occurs, and the light-free environments where sensitized film is converted to 120 and 35mm format products, are typically off-limits. The number of non-Kodak-employees who have seen these machines is few indeed. We’re informed that no digital cameras are allowed – both to minimize the chance of light spoiling the product and to help keep Kodak’s secrets a secret. In fact, as I lean closer to a particularly fascinating proprietary coating machine intent on taking a macro photo of the beautiful stainless steel and brass mechanisms I’m politely asked to refrain. “You can take a picture of it, but not that close.”

Up to this point, the Nikon Z7 has handled everything I’ve thrown at it. The highway shots of sunset made at speed, the snapshots of Rochester, the quick record of the Kodak Center exhibits and the hallways of the first factory. It’s a phenomenal camera. The kind of camera that will do anything any photographer could ever ask of it. It’s a professional’s device, even with just the one card slot (oh, the things digital photographers find to complain about…). But it’s not allowed where we’re going. It’s time to shoot the Ektra.

In contrast to the Z7, the Kodak Ektra is as advanced as an oaken club. It’s clumsy and massive, heavy and difficult to hold. The top plate is a vast assemblage of unmarked buttons, dials, and levers, each clutching its secret purpose tight to its chest. Nothing on this camera makes sense. There are five dials on the top, and none of them do what they at first glance appear to do. The film advance lever is on the back lefthand side. The shutter release, too, is on the left. Selecting the shutter speed is a guess – lift a metal dial and twist, but don’t do it before cocking the shutter because this will destroy the camera. There’s a darkslide on the bottom that allows the back to be removed, but you can’t do this without cocking the shutter either. There’s a vague feeling with the Kodak Ektra that doing anything out of order will break some critical mechanism.

The viewfinder is small and claustrophobic, and it gets smaller as we spin the admittedly ingenious dial that changes the viewfinder’s focal length. The separate rangefinder window shows a rather massive display of a split-level rangefinder. Adjust the focus via the knob on the front lefthand side of the camera until the vertical lines match, and focus is achieved. Ratchet the advance lever twice and we’re ready to set the shutter speed, aperture, and shoot.

The Kodak Ektra is possibly the slowest and clumsiest camera I’ve ever used. But it’s also one of the rarest and most interesting, and in its own day it was a marvel. Kodak’s Ektra is something of a flawed masterpiece. It signifies the last real push from any American company to produce a full-featured, high quality, system 35mm film camera. Special features not found in most other cameras of the time include a zoom-capable viewfinder, magazine film backs, a fast top shutter speed of 1/1000th of a second, and a range of Ektra lenses featuring coated glass, something even Leica and Zeiss couldn’t claim at the time. These lenses, including the Ektar 50mm F/1.9 that’s snugly screwed onto the front of my camera, were quite excellent for their era (and the gorgeous aluminum cases in which they’re stored are stunning).

By the measures of build quality and engineering, it’s a phenomenal machine, an industrial wonder. But its high price and complicated design (coupled with bad economic timing) hindered sales, and the camera failed in the market. Since only approximately 2,500 of these cameras were ever made (and how many have been lost since the 1940s?) the Kodak Ektra is a truly collectible and historically important camera.

But standing in the film sensitizing factory of Kodak Park, breathing through a Tyvek face mask and peering through safety glasses, I’m not thinking about any of that. I’m wondering, instead, what the hell my settings should be. I’ve loaded the camera with ISO 800 Cinestill film, but I’ve no light meter and the Ektra isn’t a camera to lend a helping hand. It’s dark in the factory, intentionally, so I’ll  be shooting wide open or close to it. This presents another problem; focusing the Ektra is slow and difficult, made even more difficult in less than ideal light. I spend the next hour or so squinting through a tiny viewfinder, rotating a truly sluggish focusing wheel across a massive focus range, and trying my best to make a decent photo.

When next we emerge into the sunlight of the outdoors, I’m happy to swing the Ektra off of my shoulder and away into a camera bag. I’m ready to get back to making hundreds of easy photos with Nikon’s latest marvel. And even happier when Matt tells the group that it’s time for lunch.

We pile into a bus (yes, Kodak’s campus is so large that we require a bus – there’s also a fully functional railroad and a dedicated fire department), and drive to a new building. On the way, Matt tells us that we’re about to have lunch in George Eastman’s former office on the top floor of a squat brick building, three stories tall. As we sit in the office eating our meals and chatting about film, development processes, the camera industry, and George Eastman’s legacy (and his suicide), a portrait of the founder looms massively overhead. In the corner of the room there’s a statue of an owl propped next to an escape door. We’re told the secret compartment was once fitted with a fireman’s pole leading to an outside access door. In the days of nitrate film, fire escapes were very important. The lunch is delicious. Hunger, as they’ve said, is the best spice.

In the room with me are a number of true photo geeks. We chat endlessly about the cameras in our hands, about projects, focal lengths, preferences, and Instagram accounts. I know a few of the visitors by sight, though we’ve never met. The internet is a wild place.

Lunch consumed and it’s back to the tour. The Nikon Z7 continues to impress. The zoom Nikkor and the Z7’s sensor combine to create effortlessly excellent images. Incredibly sharp, perfect color rendition, amazing low-light performance, a burst mode that might as well be video. There’s no other way to say it; if you can’t get the shot with the Z7 then it’s not the camera’s fault. The thing is perfect (though its raw files are stupidly large).

We take a drive to where Kodak film is cut, converted, and fed into the golden canisters we all know and love. We’re told not to photograph certain operations, but others which had been complete trade secrets mere years before are now open technology. Machines are slitting enormous six-foot-wide rolls of pure film into widths for 120 and 135 format film. The beating heart of another machine, called so because it looks just like a heart, perforates the film strips, creating the sprocket holes for 35mm film. At one point, they hit the lights to show just how dark the factory is when in full operational mode. It’s in this darkness that Kodak workers make our film. Tiny green LEDs illuminate virtually nothing. It’s like working a coal mine with a firefly strapped to your hardhat.

Later, Matt shows us the byproducts of production; the tiny punchouts of the perforating process, ends of rolls, film that didn’t meet inspection standards. It’s great fun to plunge hands into a massive pile of cut film, even more fun to watch a giant thousand foot roll of waste material unwind in a cascading avalanche of acetate or polyester base.

Kodak manufactures their own film canisters, and we see the raw materials for this process as well. Stacks and stacks of metal sheets, labeled with film stock that we all know and love. One of my friends mentions that he’d like to wallpaper his kitchen in the stuff. Matt laughs and says he’s petitioning the higher-ups to allow him to push more branded products. My mind flashes back to my shop, where an old Kodak coffee maker decorates the office. Yeah, more Kodak branded stuff would be fun.

We’re next taken to a factory that contains the machine that’s used to make the film base, the material that the emulsion is laid on. It’s nearly impossible to convey the sheer size of the machine that’s required to do this. Over three stories tall, it’s necessary to travel three flights of stairs simply to travel from the bottom of the machine to the top. It runs the entire length of the building, so distant from one end to the other that it’s literally impossible to see where the machine ends when standing at the beginning. At one end of the machine, pure superheated liquid polyester (they were making a polyester base this day) is poured atop a massive metal wheel to cool and harden. It’s then stretched in length and width over the span of tens of miles of rollers and webbing.

The noise is outstanding. The sheer size of the operation is stunning. I watch this material stretch and pull and flow through a building-sized machine as if I’m a mouse standing inside a newspaper printing press. The workers pick up a phone and request that the machine be slowed so that we can see the process more clearly. At that moment, a massive section of machine the size of my living room begins to slowly inch down on enormous chains, increasing the span that the polyester material must travel, thus slowing the entire operation by degrees. This machine is a machine like no other. It’s unfathomable.

It also makes me wonder; how can Kodak be making any money? They’re constantly running a machine the size of a building to produce film base. And then another building makes the chemistry. And another building coats the stuff while another makes the packaging. It’s a staggeringly large operation, and after nearly eight hours of walking, staring, blinking, and wondering, I’m more tired than ever.

But even after seeing the overwhelmingly vast operation that’s required to make film, my real takeaway after touring the Kodak facility isn’t awe at the size of the operation, though I am in awe. It’s not an appreciation for the politeness of the men and women who keep Kodak working in 2019, though they have been exceptionally polite. It’s not even a renewed respect for the most important company in photography, though Kodak is that important.

What impresses me most about Kodak, having seen it from the inside, is the unwavering dedication to producing extremely high quality products and a total refusal to compromise on that quality. From the first person I met to the very last, every single voice repeated the importance of perfection. That every frame of every roll of film must be perfect, or else they’ve not done their job. And throughout downsizing and reorganization, consolidating their once-global factories into a concise (though still massive) park in New York, it seems the people in Rochester are still committed to doing their jobs as perfectly as ever.

As the tour winds down, we all shake hands, chat, take some selfies. I’ve got an eight hour drive ahead of me. Plenty of time to think and decompress after what has been a whirlwind twenty-four hours. As I leave Rochester behind me, I look to the passenger seat, to the cameras sitting there. The Nikon Z7 is unbeatable. It’s the camera that makes effortlessly great photos, and one that I’d use in any situation. It’s a digital marvel. The future.

The Kodak Ektra is something entirely different. A gorgeous machine, though difficult; a relic of a time when the largest and most successful photographic company in the world had limitless resources and never-ending dedication to pure quality. In the seventy-odd years since that camera rolled off an assembly line, a lot has changed in Rochester. But not everything’s changed. And there’s something special about that, something good.

If you’d like to take a tour of the Kodak facilities, visit their landing page here

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Lot No. 143 – Wetzlar-made Leica 72 Half Frame Camera

Between 1950 and 1962, Leitz produced just thirty-three half-frame cameras in Wetzlar, Germany (while about 150 others were made in Leitz’ Canadian factory). These half-frame cameras were based on the screw mount Leica IIIa, and have come to be known as the Leica 72, as they allow the user to expose 72 18x24mm photos on a standard 36-exposure roll of film. They are among the rarest production Leicas, and were intended to be used in copying applications. The one that’s for sale in Flints’ upcoming auction is in beautiful condition, and I’d personally love to see it get some action.

With a working shutter, very good body, a nice Leitz Elmar 50mm lens, and the early flip-down window mask, this camera is sure to entice the Leica collectors out there. Better still if whoever buys it ends up shooting the thing.

Lot No. 241 – Ilford Witness Rangefinder Camera with Dallmeyer Super Six F/1.9

This camera has the potential to ruin my marriage. Of all the lots in the upcoming auction, this is the one that’s dangerously enticing to me. It’s also bound to fetch a hefty sum when the gavel finally drops. That’s because the Ilford Witness is a seriously rare and capable camera, and the lens that comes attached to this particular Witness is a legendary chunk of glass and metal.

Around the year 1945, two German-Jewish refugees, former Leitz employee Robert Sternberg and former Zeiss employee Werner Julius Rothschild, developed a camera prototype that they intended to be a high-precision, interchangeable-lens 35mm rangefinder camera to compete with the Leica and Contax cameras of the era. The backgrounds of the new camera’s creators meant that many elements of the Leica and Zeiss cameras of the day were incorporated into and improved upon within the new machine. Seeking a manufacturer, the two designers approached British photographic materials manufacturer Ilford in 1947, who agreed to produce the camera. Thus, the Ilford Witness was born.

Difficulty in scaling to cost-effective mass-production, a desire from Ilford to focus on more affordable “everyman” cameras, the harsh realities of a post-war economy in Ilford’s domestic market, and competition with established brands were all factors which doomed the Ilford Witness seemingly from the start. The result was that only approximately 350 Ilford Witness cameras were ever made.

But don’t let the low production numbers fool you. They are incredible machines. And this, combined with their rarity, has made them among the most expensive and collectible cameras one can buy today. Oh, and Flints has two of them in the October 18th auction. That’s just not fair.

Lot No. 328 Uyeda Moment Pocket Watch Camera

Made around 1910, this extremely rare sub-miniature camera is a Japanese copy of the British-made Ticka Watch Camera that I covered in detail in a retrospective article some time ago. Like the Ticka Watch Camera, the Uyeda Moment is a tiny camera made to look like a pocket watch. There’s a rotatable viewfinder on the “winding stem” of the watch, a lever to cock the shutter, and a wind knob to advance the film. It exposes roll film in a specialized cartridge through a tiny lens hidden where the crown would be on an actual watch. A rare and beautiful piece.

Lot No. 329 – Doryu Camera Co. 2-16 Pistol Camera

The Doryu Pistol Camera is a camera that’s often seen on camera nerd forums, Instagram, and wherever else collectors of weird and rare cameras lurk. This is partly due to its striking design, which looks more like a ray-gun than it does a camera, and the fact that it’s a truly strange device with an interesting history.

Created by the Doryu Camera Company in Japan in 1954, the camera was intended as a device for police to instantly record the moment that a crime took place. Specifically, it was intended to be used to record crimes in a public protest environment after the Bloody May Incident of 1952, in which a number of police officers were injured while taking photos with standard cameras held against the eye. The Doryu Pistol camera prototype was passed over by authorities in favor of the extremely similar Mamiya Pistol Camera. For the next couple of years, the Doryu Pistol Camera was marketed and sold to civilians, however the highly-specialized design meant that it sold in very low numbers. Doryu quickly halted production.

The camera itself is fairly ingenious. It comes with an f/2.7 standard lens (and allows for interchangeable cine-mount lenses) and exposes 16mm film. There’s a magazine in the handle of the “gun” that contains six magnesium-filled flash cartridges. When the trigger is pulled, the shutter is fired, and the magnesium cartridge fires a bright flash from the top of the camera. A photo is made and a crime (supposedly) recorded.

The example in the upcoming auction is in very good condition, with a working shutter, original manuals, and the original box. This is a very rare set indeed. And while I’d not recommend using the camera in public, it’ll look great on a shelf.

Lot No. 456 – Risdon Manufacturing Co. Canary Songster “Watch the Birdy” Decoy

Lot No. 458 – Berning Robot 375 Aerial Camera

We recently wrote a review of the Robot Royal 24, a unique square-format, clockwork driven, 35mm rangefinder camera. While shooting and researching that machine, I came across some records of Berning’s Robot Aerial cameras, so it was interesting to finally see one in such amazing condition when the Flints’ auction catalog came through via email.

The Berning Robot Aerial cameras were mostly fitted in the tails of German Junkers Ju87 ‘Stuka’ dive bombers to record bombing strikes during World War II. Records indicate that approximately 200 cameras were made and fitted to bombers, with many (or most) being lost in action. It has been suggested that less than twenty remain in existence today.

The example in the Flints auction comes with a cassette, a wooden storage box, and a working shutter. In fact, this camera has recently been serviced by a Robot specialist, making it a truly rare and exceptional piece of photographic gear.

We’ve highlighted some of the fun, rare, and unusual items that will be for sale in just over a week when the auction goes live on October 18th, but please do browse the full catalog yourself. In addition to the ultra-rare and extremely expensive, there are plenty of lots in this auction that will satisfy those looking for an everyday camera (check out the Canons, Rolleis, and the Leica R series cameras) or an unusual lens (The Ross Xpres lenses should be of interest). There’s even something for those of us who are looking for (what must surely be) the most beautiful microscope ever made.

Interested bidders may bid live online via the liveauctioneers or the-saleroom websites, via telephone, or by attending the auction in person. More information on Flints Auctions can be found here.

If you’d like to see more coverage of special auctions on Casual Photophile, let us know in the comments.

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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 Check Out These Amazing Items from Flints Auctions’ October 18th Auction of Fine Photographica appeared first on Casual Photophile.

All of that in mind, I have to admit that I bought this camera mainly for its good looks. With its 1950s aluminum body wrapped in gorgeous “Pegamoid” skin, it resembles the Pontiac Super Lynx I which James has written about on this site. However, once I shot with the Finetta 99 I was pleasantly surprised to find that its usability easily matches its styling, and I’ve been extremely impressed with the Finon 45mm lens. 

This very rare and elegantly designed camera is a handcrafted jewel which epitomizes the techniques and styling of German cameras made in the 1950s. Every aspect of the camera, from its unique spring work motor to its beautifully machined lens and dials, was built with utmost care and finest craftsmanship. But because only approximately 10,000 copies were ever manufactured, there are very few working examples left in the world. My Finetta 99 was in pristine condition when I bought it, and it has been fully restored since.

The 1950s saw an uptick in the number of clockwork cameras being made, the most well-known being the Berning Robot, as well as Bolsey 8, Bell & Howell Foton and the Italian Gami. The Finetta 99 combined the clockwork drive of cameras like the Berning Robot with a system of interchangeable lenses which was then only available in cameras such as the Contax IIa, Contax S, Exakta and of course, the Leica. The cameras made by Finetta prior to the Finetta 99 were quite primitive, and the company put a great deal of effort and ingenuity into the design and production of the camera. In fact, so much effort was put into developing the camera that is plunged the company into bankruptcy (another factor influencing the dearth of existing copies). The quality of its build, the high styling, and the relative lack of supply has made the camera a highly sought after model in the collector camera market.

The history behind unique cameras like the Finetta adds another layer of interest on top of its looks and function. I’m always fascinated to learn who designed them and the companies that built them. The Finetta 99 has this historical interest in spades. It was the final and most ambitious of the cameras developed by Finetta-Werk, located in Goslar in the Harz mountains of Germany. Adding a further layer to the personal backstory of my camera, my Finetta 99 (Serial Number 093741) came from the estate of Werner Umstätter, a well-known camera collector in Germany who was responsible for the creation of the Museum der Fotografie in Görlitz, Germany.  

The Finetta 99 really achieved success after its release to an astonished photo-shooting public at Photokina in April 1954. When it was released the camera cost 198 Deutsch Mark and was advertised in May 1954 in the United States for 99 dollars, the equivalent of $938 in 2019. Other cameras with interchangeable lenses such as the Contax S, Leica IIIc, Contax IIa and the Exakta VX cost three to four times as much as the Finetta 99. It was rebadged as the Ditto 99 in the USA, and the Hanimar by Hanimex in Australia. 

Picture of the Domkaserne building, the location of Finetta-Werk in 1960.

Finetta-Werk Sarabèr Goslar Cameras

The history of the Finetta company is inextricably tied to one man, its owner Peter Sarabèr. He is pictured above left in the only image I can find of him, which was published in 1952 when the Finetta company was at the height of its success. 

Piet (later Peter) Sarabèr was a Dutch native who was born in Saarland, Holland in 1899 and died in Switzerland in 1985, aged 86 years. Prior to WWII, Sarabèr was working as an electrician in Delft, Holland where he had also studied engineering. 

After the start of WWII in 1939, like millions of other men in conquered Sarabèr became a forced laborer under Nazi rule. Being a skilled electrician with an engineering background, his skills were valuable, and in 1940 he was brought into Korelle Werks by Brandtman by its chief designer. In 1942 Sarabèr married a German woman Elisabetha. Because of Korelle’s seizure by the Nazis prior to WWII, and the fact that he later brought some Korelle employees like Rudolf Trensch into his own post-war company, Sarabèr has been unfairly accused of being a Nazi collaborator. However, as this account written about the history of Goslar indicates that both Sarabèr and his German wife were opposed to the policies of the Nazis. 

“Born in Delft (Holland), the native of Saarland ends up in Seesen during the war, a time when the personal happiness of the Sarabèr family is on the cutting edge, Ms. Elisabetha shows her displeasure at the injustices of the Nazi regime. This type of action aroused the interest of the Gestapo, and the Sarabèrs were no exception, it was suggested that it was “in their own interests” to divorce, which is out of the question for both […] then Elisabetha Sarabèr helped a man in his struggle for survival, who was passing secret information from Germany to the English …. “

Goslars Handel im Wandel der Zeiten [Goslar’s Trade in the Changing Times], by Kraus Geyer

Immediately after WWII, Sarabèr and his wife moved to the German town of Goslar in the Sierra del Harz in Lower Silesia, a pretty medieval town which featured in the film The Monuments Men. Only a few weeks after the end of the war on June 1^st 1945, Sarabèr opened an office specializing in electrical engineering, but it wasn’t long before the emphasis of the company focused on manufacturing cameras.  

From 1947 to 1949, Sarabèr developed his first camera based on a design by Helmut Finke, a veteran technician at Voigtländer Kamera Werk in nearby Braunschweig. This first camera was dubbed the “Finette” supposedly based on Finke’s name, and it was launched in 1948. However, the two quickly parted when Sarabèr discovered that Finke was working on a copy of the camera with a nearby competitor. Following this conflict, Sarabèr changed the name of his firm, and on October 23rd, 1948 the “Finetta-Werk” company was registered. Shortly after, the “Finetta” camera was released. 

By 1949 Sarabèr had hired Rudolph Trentsch, who he’d worked with during the War at Korelle Werks. Trentsch was employed as an engineer and designer to help run the company and design cameras. The new company was located in a large former military barracks located in the Jäger-Kaserne, Golsar, sometimes called the Dom-Kaserne pictured above. The company shared the building with a workshop to help retrain people who were injured during WWII, and employed sixty people – mainly women – who Sarabèr hired because he believed they had better manual dexterity than men. Between 1949 and 1956, nearly 100,000 Finetta cameras were built in Goslar’s Finetta factory and exported worldwide.

The success of the Finetta cameras led to an expansion of the company. In 1951 Sarabèr brought several experienced engineers into the company. Camera designer Herrn Höhlemann and Karl-Heinz Reich who was responsible for the design of the Kühn REKA Camera also joined the company. It was this team of experienced engineers and designers who created the Finetta 99 camera. 

A Closer Look at the Finetta 99

The Finetta 99 came in two versions; the regular Finetta 99 (1952) had a slowest shutter speed of 1/25, and the Finetta 99L (1953) had an extra speed knob with slow shutter speeds down to one second. To see examples of the two versions see the excellent article by Dr. Siegfried Müller.

The Finetta 99 was the penultimate camera in a series of cameras produced by Peter Sarabèr. When it was introduced to the public at Photokina in 1954 it caused a sensation. The camera featured a clockwork motor with the ability to shoot up to sixteen shots without rewinding, at a speed of four pictures per second. It also featured an advanced focal plane shutter with speeds of 1/25 – 1/1,000 second. To those accomplishments was added a variety of interchangeable lenses, and extensions tubes for macro work. Sarabèr’s electrical background had also given him the skills to add a dedicated hotshoe of his own design, and the Finelux flash, a revolutionary design, allowed the flash to be directed at an angle. Competing cameras at this time with interchangeable lenses were three to four times the cost of the Finetta 99. 

I am drawn to quirky and unusual cameras and the Finetta 99 resembles no other. The company really put a lot of effort into its design, and for a consumer-priced camera the levels of detailing are first class. The cast aluminum chassis is covered by a top cover of satin chromed steel and back and base cover made of thin riveted steel sheet, which is screwed in place by a large knurled knob on the base. The outer body is covered with the distinctive silver herring bone skin made from a synthetic material called “Pegamoïd.” This material was also used on the French Semflex camera and resembles the cast metal body of the beautiful Pontiac Super Lynx from France. The accoutrements to the beautiful surface finishes of the Finetta 99 are the knobs and dials, which are made of metal and machined to extremely fine tolerances. 

The most unique feature of the Finetta 99 is its mechanically charged film winding mechanism, and unlike the Berning Robot cameras which require the use of cartridges, the Finetta 99 works with regular 35mm film. Within the Finetta 99, where an ordinary take up spool would exist in most cameras, is a large chromed cylinder with sprocket lugs to transport the film. It should be noted that the camera manual carries a warning about not shooting the camera without film inserted, and this may be the reason that the clockwork motor of many Finetta 99 cameras is no longer functional. This warning hints at a larger truth – that the Finetta 99 is a quirky and unique camera. Prospective buyers and shooters should read the manual before touching the camera. It can be found here in English or German.

Shooting the Finetta 99

The ergonomics of the camera are good and it exudes a feeling of firmness and quality. The controls are all solid metal with machine engraving and operate nicely, apart from the shutter release which is has a lot of travel, and one of the lesser quality features on the camera. The shutter fires, and at the end of its travel springs back only if you lift your finger off the shutter button. Occasionally mine sticks, and the trick to getting them working is to turn the Leica-type fast speed dial to get it to complete its travel. However, be warned not to lift it as that can damage the mechanics. Mine is 95% reliable and this small nuisance I forgive because everything else about this camera delights me. 

The large spring winding knob gives about sixteen shots when fully wound, although Finetta-Werk advertised it as being able to reach twenty. This knob, which both advances the film and cocks the shutter, rotates counter-clockwise and care must be taken; like all clockwork motors it’s not advisable to wind it too tightly. The clockwork function takes a while to get accustomed to, as the film is advanced solely by the friction of the take-up spool without a sprocket drive. Consequently, as the film is wound onto the spool the spacing between the frames begins to increase, posing a few scanning problems with today’s automated machinery. Once a roll is completed, rewinding the film is done via the knob at the base of the motor. Unscrewing this disengages an internal pawl. 

Care must be taken that film is loaded as per the instructions in the manual. I have made a better-quality step-by-step instruction for inclusion in this article. Turn the rewind release knob on the base of the camera fully to the left and rotate the take up spool so that the holding pins come to the front, then turn the rewind release fully in again. Undo the rear panel of the camera by turning the large knob on the base of the camera counterclockwise. Inside the camera is very neat and features a lovely chromed pressure plate. Fold the pressure plate open, then hook the second perforation of the film onto the holding pins. Lay the film along the film channel, insert the film cartridge whilst keeping the film taut, and fold the pressure plate back over the film. Double check that the film is taut and the holding pins are firmly placed within the film’s sprocket holes before placing the cover back on the camera, because otherwise the film wont engage with the sprockets and the film wont transport after each shot. 

The cloth focal plane shutter has speeds on the shutter speed dial beside the shutter release button, with speeds up 1,000 of a second. On the front righthand side of the camera is a selector lever which has B for Bulb setting, read the manual and be careful of using this as incorrect use can damage the camera. The other setting are synchronized flash delay settings for using the Finelux Flash. 

Before taking a shot, the focus distance and aperture must be changed on the lens. This is done quite easily. The aperture is adjusted with the smaller wheel while the larger knurled knob adjusts focus. Distance can be estimated, but Finetta recommended the use of an auxiliary rangefinder. I have written a detailed article on the Watameter-Super that I use on my Finetta 99. This is especially necessary when attempting macro shots with the Finon lens. The lens has two sets of markings on the dial one from infinity to one meter, and then a completely different set from one meter down to 22 centimeters. Beware that there is an amazing amount of travel on the lens to get from close-focusing distance to infinity, with the lens rotating almost three whole revolutions between the two extremes. This gives a lot of ability to finely focus, but to be accurate an auxiliary rangefinder is a necessity. 

The viewfinder is one of the poorest features of the camera, it provides no information at all, just a simple bright frame that displays an image area that’s a little wider than the real frame line. The one thing I would recommend is to get a Blind Viewfinder, the easiest being the 24×36 Voigtländer Kontur finder.

The P. Saraber Goslar Finon 45mm f/2.8 lens 

Unlike the earlier Finetta cameras the Finetta 99 was released with a really superb lens, the P. Saraber Goslar FINON 45mm f/2.8. As I’ve stated before I bough this lovely little camera for its looks but was absolutely astonished when I developed the first roll of film and saw the results. The lens is sharp and produces rich contrasty images that are nearly the equal of my favorite lens, the Schneider-Kreuznach five element Xenar 50mm f/2.8. 

The lens design is of the classic four-element Tessar variety, but the front element is deeply embedded within the lens body and has a deep blue coating. I believe these two features are what make this lens capable of producing such good images. 

Unlike the earlier Finetta cameras the Finetta 99 came with its own special quick-release claw lock bayonet mount, which operates with two claws gripping the lens barrel, released by two small buttons on the front of the camera. The lens is typical of German lens design of the 1950s; solid aluminum construction, a knurled focusing knob, and beautifully engraved details. However, what separates this lens from all the other Finetta lenses, and in fact most lenses of the period, is its incredible close focus ability. With a minimum focus distance of 22 centimeters (just 8.5 inches). Shooting macro photos at 22 cm on a viewfinder camera is really a challenge, but using a Watameter-Super I did manage to get some impressive shots.  

Finetta-Werk was unusual amongst the camera manufacturers of the time that they made nearly every part of their cameras in-house. It was common practice at the time for smaller manufacturers to buy their lenses from OEM suppliers. While this was better for ensuring quality control, the costs must have been prohibitive and was partially the reason why the company eventually went bankrupt despite strong sales. Originally the lens elements were made by Die Optisches Werk Dr. Staeble & Co., aka Staeble-Werk in München (Munich). Staeble-Werk was mainly an OEM lens manufacture, and apart from Finetta they supplied lenses for Braun, Kalos, King, Envious, Potthof, Saraber, Wirgin, Genos, Ising, Kürbi & Niggeloh, Linden, Mozar, Pohlack and Seidel. The Finon lenses were assembled at Finetta-Werk, where the barrels were manufactured. Sarabèr himself designed the equipment to grind the lenses used on the later models, and they also made the first lenses for the Bolsey 8 camera.  

The Finetta 99 was designed as a system camera, and came with a variety of lenses, and extension tubes. The telephoto lenses each have a built-in hinged viewfinder mask that swings up in front of the camera’s viewfinder. Some of the lenses were made in house at Finetta-Werk, but a variety of lenses were produced for the Finetta 99 including the following – 35mm f/4.3 retrofocus design produced by Som Berthiot (France); P. Saraber Finetar 45mm f/2.8 possibly made in house by Finetta-Werk; Staeble-Finon S 45mm f/2.8 produced by Staeble-Werk (Germany); P. Saraber Finon 45mm f/2.8 (Macro) produced by Staeble-Werk (Germany); Finetta-Werk Color Finar 70 mm f/4.5; Finetar 70mm f/4.5; Telec 90mm f/4.5 produced by J. La Barre (France); Dittar 105 mm f/6.3; Finetta 105mm f/6.3.

The Legacy of Peter Sarabèr

Sarabèr really was an ingenious and accomplished camera designer, although not as successful a businessman. A testament to the ingenuity of Sarabèr’s designs is that the film advance spring wind mechanism of the Finetta 99 was copied by the Soviet designers of the GOMZ Leningrad camera, a very revolutionary camera for its time. Apart from developing the ingenious spring wind mechanism, Sarabèr also developed his own design of a Hot Shoe for the Finetta 99, and the revolutionary “Finelux” flashlight with collapsible metal reflector.

Apart from his own cameras Sarabèr was engaged by Jacques Bogopolsky, alias Bolsey, the owner of the famed Bolsey cinema cameras to design the Bolsey 8, an ultra-compact 8mm camera. This ingenious camera weighing 380 grams and measuring 30 x 79 x 65 mm – only slightly larger than a packet of cigarettes – remains to this day the smallest 8mm camera in the World. The first copies were made at the Finetta-Werk factory and included the Saraber-Goslar FINON 75mm f/2.8 lens, but after the bankruptcy the equipment was shipped first to the Netherlands, and finally to the United States; so the later Bolsey cameras had some Finetta DNA in them. First released in 1955 the Bolsey 8 went through several versions such as the “Princess” and the “Lady” but didn’t sell well commercially. However, it did have one favored market, the spies of the CIA and Britain’s MI6 who widely used it during the Cold War.

Despite the commercial success – especially overseas – of the Finetta 99, the company became over indebted and their bank in Hanover blocked their loans. In February 1957 the company went bankrupt, Sarabèr’s Son Arthur became involved in the company and desperately attempted to trade the company out of its problems. A skeleton crew kept producing cameras for sale from existing parts but sadly on November 30, 1957 the factory was finally closed and the company dissolved.

After a lifetime working in the camera industry, and all his commercial success, and what must have been the heartbreaking dissolution of his company, a then fifty-eight-year-old Sarabèr didn’t give up. He continued to work in the camera industry, including as a designer at Minox, Emo-Elektronik, as a projector designer in Liechtenstein, on binocular development at Hensoldt in Wetzlar, and he even designed a cigarette tamping machine for BILORA. Sarabèr never gave up on his beloved clockwork cameras; in 1965 (then aged sixty-six) he designed a new Super 8 camera in Germany and Switzerland in the style of the Bolsey 8, the Tellcin S8. The Tellcin S8 had no light meter or zoom and needed a specially loaded cassette to use Super 8 film, but only fifty to sixty copies were produced up to 1970. 

Peter Sarabèr died in 1985 at the age of eighty-six. He was survived by his son Arthur and two other children, his grave is in Switzerland where he spent the final years of his life. Sadly his name hardly exists today, and I was unable to track down any of his relatives. Vale Mr. Sarabèr! I love and cherish the quirky, beautiful cameras you designed. 

Finetta 99 Buyer’s Guide

The Finetta 99 is really a collector’s camera, sought after by people whose only intention is to put them in a display case. But I am a contrarian and love shooting old and quirky cameras. However, it’s important for me to emphasize that any prospective buyers would be exceedingly lucky to find a Finetta in as good condition as mine, and then it would be even rarer to find one that’s operational. The unique feature that sets this camera apart, the spring wound clockwork motor, is also its biggest liability. The spring wound clockwork mechanism which transports the film is perhaps not built to the best design or standards, and if it has been damaged it’s almost impossible to find a camera technician with any experience repairing one. Buyers who find one and plan on shooting a Finetta 99 should not attempt to shoot it until after having it serviced by a trained camera repair expert familiar with film cameras from this era. I am fortunate enough to have a friend who does this – Brett Rogers in Tasmania, Australia – and he was invaluable in helping me to bring this camera back to life. 

Despite being a rare camera, the Finetta 99 can be found readily on eBay and other sites. They are most common in Germany, and in the USA where they were marketed as the Ditto 99. The camera is common in the United Kingdom and this may be because Goslar was located in the British occupation zone after World War II and many British soldiers may have taken them home. The British importer Haynor Ltd. in London was responsible for the spread of the Finettas widely advertising the camera during the 1950s. 

For me, this little camera epitomizes everything I love about vintage cameras; a unique look, still capable of producing lovely images, and possessing an interesting history. If you are into street photography these types of camera are great. They are a real conversation starter, and when I am shooting it people often stop and ask about it. However probably the best asset to shooting street photography with vintage cameras is that people are less intimidated by them, and I always tell people that it’s a film camera which for some reason people feel more comfortable with. I wouldn’t recommend the Finetta 99 as a daily shooter, but for occasional street shooting, or just taking snapshots on holidays it’s great fun. 

Want your own Sarabèr Finetta 99?

The high prices the Finetta fetches are based upon its collectibility, and examples in good condition are not cheap. So you won’t find many people shooting this camera, and shots taken with are even harder to find than the camera. So hopefully this article will encourage people to take them off the shelf and run some film through them. If you aren’t brave enough to do that, then at least this fascinating and beautiful camera will look lovely sitting in your display case. 

Find one via eBay

Find one through our own F Stop Cameras

Acknowledgments 

Firstly, I must give my immense gratitude to Brett Rogers of Tasmania Film Photography who bought this lovely little camera back to life.

Special thanks to Dr. Siegfried Müller, and special thanks to Cees-Jan de Hoog for providing images for this article.

Some pictures and text are excerpted from the book Finetta, Peter Sarabèr, Kamerawerk Goslar 1948-1956, by Heinz Veddeler, private printing Rhauderdehn 2013. Mr. Veddeler is the expert on the Finetta cameras and has published numerous articles on the camera. His book – although now out of print – is available second-hand. 

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