Dutch Date - Part 1: The Nikon N75 and the Maxxum HTSi

Every so often, I'll get really frugal and ask a couple of cameras to share a roll of film.  Though there are problems here and there, they'll usually agree.  I call these "Dutch Dates" and usually try to pair cameras with something more than simply the film format in common.  Below is a look at just one such pairing...

The two Japanese millennials sat and reminisced on their youth as they partook in a shared roll of a newer American classic: Kodak's TMAX 100.

Camera Models: Minolta Maxxum HTSi (1997) and Nikon N75 (2002)

Similarities: Both are "mid-entry level" SLR cameras dating from the last 10 years of film's dominance that are largely overlooked today by film enthusiasts, who instead opt for higher end models of the era.  Both were acquired as an extra of a multi-camera lot, and happened to function perfectly.

Differences: The models come from different makers, and have different button locations for some similar functions.  The Minolta allows for manual setting of ISO speeds and has a faster top shutter speed of 1/4000 second.  The Nikon has five illuminated focus points that can be easily selected using a pad on the back of the camera.

Film Shared: Kodak TMax 100, fresh dated. 


In a world of camera collecting and shooting, you're bound to acquire a few extras you'd never intended to snap up.  Typically, these come in the form of an extra camera body bundled in with a multi camera lot that contains something else of interest.  All too often, these extra pieces are either something broken, something that you already have, or something that is just not terribly interesting.

Of the last of those classifications, there is often room for a slight change of heart, one that happens when you pick up that camera, load it with batteries (if it requires them), and fire off a few test shots, only to realize "You know what?!?  I don't hate this!"

As American as the Fourth of July: The Kodak Instamatic 704 and 804

"You know, we once made stuff here."

It's a common refrain still prevalent among older Americans, and is something that can be particularly difficult for a larger percentage of our population to relate.  I tend to consider myself as one who can occasionally forget the significance that the U.S. once held in the manufacturing world as I type away today on my Chinese made computer, uploading some digital photos taken on a camera made in the Philippines, embellished with a Japanese made lens, and adding scans of film shots done on an Indonesian made scanner. 

Yes, the United States once had a robust manufacturing sector, which certainly extended to the world of photography, with names like Kodak, Argus, Detrola, Revere, Falcon, Ansco, Polaroid, Bolsey, Universal, and others all competing head to head in a crowded marketplace for the photographer's dollar.

So what was the most American camera model of all-time?  Some might say the ubiquitous Argus C3, a classic example of a well built camera that remained nearly unchanged for a production run spanning 3 decades.  Others could opine for any of the Polaroid Land Camera models as being stellar examples of American ingenuity.  Still others might pick a wild card like the Bolsey B2 as a classic example of an immigrant landing in this country and setting forth to accomplish his dreams in a new country.  And for the curious, there is certainly the story of the Univex cameras resulting from a pair of capitalists putting their minds and resources together in the midst of the Great Depression.

My answer for the most "American" camera of all time uses much more simplistic logic. There is no holiday more American than Independence Day, often simply known as the "Fourth of July."  So is there a camera out there that is as American as July 4th?!? I'm not sure there could exist a camera as American as Independence Day as this one...

All this camera needs is some deep blue leather on the front and some white stars and it would be the ultimate "American" camera.

The Kodak Instamatic 704, along with its upmarket sibling: the 804, represent some of the finest American camera craftsmanship out there.  These sturdy 126 format cameras, produced between 1965 and 1969 are a particularly endearing pair of photo taking partners with complementary red and blue emblems that truly portray a patriotic air to them.

A Breath of Fresh Air: The Airesflex Model U(T) TLR camera.

Though I have been familiar with their usage for the better part of 25 years, and have owned several, I can't say that TLR cameras have ever really been a mainstay of mine. Instead, these cameras have usually tended to supplement other types of cameras in my collection.  True, I've had occasions where TLR cameras were the ideal choice (at least on my budget) for specific projects such as portraiture and wedding photography, but I could never see where a TLR would be my primary photo taker given their bulk, shutter speed limitations, and the reversing of the image in the viewfinder.

All this negativity stated, did I mention that I love TLR cameras?  When it comes to a camera that delivers superb output and precisionate focusing onto a medium format negative at a modest price, nothing quite beats a TLR camera.

For the past couple of years, I'd been largely content to keep just two TLR cameras in my collection: namely the Seagull 4A-103 and the Yashica 12.  Both have rewarded me with some of my favorite images over the past three years, and are called upon periodically when I want to ensure that I can trust a camera to deliver excellent results.  I did have a little indiscretion last Spring when I picked up the Silverflex Model S, but was quickly dismayed by the results from that camera.

So with my TLR quota largely filled, one might wonder why I elected to purchase this one evening...

The Airesflex offers a basic, yet still somewhat elegant look to it, as an example of a well-built 1950's Japanese TLR camera. 

With a price tag of just $25 compared to a value that is at least three times that, I would think a more apt question would be "Why would I NOT add this camera to my collection.  It took mere seconds to arrive at the decision that the Airesflex would be coming home with me.

Kwentisentially Kompact - Agfa's Karomat 36

For as long as I have successfully been able to use it, I have loved my Kodak Bantam Special 4.5. Its incredibly compact design and intuitive manual controls make it one of the easiest fully manual cameras I have yet to use. Add in that it is a family heirloom and this basic little camera that few employ today in their photo taking regimen sits uniquely as a favorite of mine.  
And while I do like the quirky and unique attributes of the 828 film format, even I can admit that I'm not always eager to cut down 120 film to respool to fit into my small cadre of 828 film cameras. Yet, with no Kodak-made 35mm equivalent to this trim Bantam model, I elected to look about to see if there was an affordable Bantam-like imposter made by anyone. So when this camera showed up on my radar for about $20, I knew I had found a contender for my 35mm Bantam. 

The look of the Agfa Karomat 36 is in some ways simple and elaborate at the same time. 
The Agfa Karomat's structural resemblance to the Bantam is certainly not just coincidence, as both cameras have their origins rooted in compact design practices of the era. With the Bantam, this came in the form of the 828 film, among the smallest of roll film sizes at the time of its introduction in 1938.  With the Karomat, the lineage reaches back to the use of Agfa "Rapid" cartridges, a spool free cassette using 35mm stock that was the basis for some of Agfa's earlier attempts at 35mm.  Coincidentally, Ansco, with which Agfa would collaborate, also used a similar cassette for their Memo box camera.  

The Box Camera Baby: The Agfa-Cadet A-8

Surprises can be a very good thing, particularly when they fill an unmet need or want.

I had just won one of those "bulk" camera ebay auctions which somehow closed for surprisingly less than I'd have expected.  In fact, I considered by bid to be a mercy bid that would soon be sniped as the auction drew to a close.  Perhaps I had a little luck on my side, or perhaps traffic was light on this afternoon before a three day weekend, but I now had a motley collection of about 8 cameras that also included the Ansco Goodwin, Rolls, and the Pickwik.

As I surveyed my surprising win, I could see that one of the cameras headed my way would be a more modern Agfa box camera with a lot of patina on its face plate.  Doing a quick look about online, I spotted a very similar looking Agfa-Box B2 camera, and presumed this was what would be in that package on delivery day.

So the true surprise came upon opening the box and discovering the tiniest of box cameras awaiting me.  I had become the unexpected owner of an Agfa-Cadet A-8 camera, a true box camera for 127 film!

Pictures do lie. This seemingly imposing brute of a box camera is likely smaller than the box your last mobile phone was packaged in. 

This adorable little box camera dates from about 1940, and is a bit of an update over previous versions of this camera with a more ordinary leather front.  This model has a metal front with a more Art Deco style to it, with geometric lines inside of the box case and outside of the lens opening, all punctuated by the diamond "Agfa" script logo.  Atop the camera, which measures roughly 3" x 5" x 7", is a leather carrying handle.   

Instamadness: The Ricoh 126C Flex

The morning of May 26, 2017 dawned in Frederick with a surprising amount of sunshine compared to the days which had proceeded it. Today was my mother's birthday, and I'd been busy preparing late the evening prior.  There would be no festive celebration, but instead remembrance.

Today would have been my mother's 81st birthday.  She passed away in the beginning of May 2014 just a few weeks shy of her 78th birthday.  The last three advents of May the 26th had been challenging to say the least, but this year, I had elected to spend it a bit differently.  At nearly the last minute, I'd elected to begin a new tradition of sorts,

My mother enjoyed photography in much the same way as I do,  But while I've always enjoyed approaching photography from new angles, armed with a varied plethora of different photographic devices, she remained fiercely loyal to a single photographic companion - her Kodak Instamatic X-35.

Nearly all of the photographic memories of my childhood were taken through the lens of this basic camera, and while I never recall seeing any photos from this camera that stun me with magnificent sharpness or phenomenal bokeh, the small plastic camera did its job of recording family memories for decades.  My mother's loyalty to this camera was so great that she simply stopped taking photos when the availability of 126 film in local stores dried up in the mid-1990's, despite me getting her what I thought was a perfectly suitable easy-loading Pentax replacement in 35mm format.

A few days prior to the advent of this day, I had been browsing about a few camera articles online when I happened upon a site that detailed some of the more "up-market" offerings in the 126 format, and within a few days, had elected to give one of the cameras featured on this page a try.  My "Why not?" moment for 126 was soon answered by the Ricoh 126C-Flex.

The 126-C Flex seems to be a marriage of parts from the TLS lineup of 35mm SLR cameras and the earlier Ricohflex 35 leaf shutter SLR cameras.  The 55mm f/2.8 lens seems to be the same as that on the Ricohflex, and provides a mild portrait/telephoto perspective for the smaller 126 format. 

Outside the Box Thinking? The Gevaert Gevabox

Photography is an interesting hobby that is often quite illogical, particularly as it pertains to gear.  For example, why do people willingly shell out 5 times as much for a 50mm f/1.2 lens as they will for the half-stop slower 50mm f/1.4?  As well, why will people expend a hefty premium for a lens or camera in a certain "serial number sweet spot" specific to each model?  

I am certainly guilty of similar behavior, but in much the opposite way.  Though I have a decent assortment of some very capable cameras with fine lenses, I'll often shelve these more advanced models to shoot on something significantly more basic in nature.  One could easily ask why I have my Zeiss Super Ikonta 531/2 sitting at home while I'm out shooting with cameras like this:

These handsome siblings are both variants of the Gevaert Gevabox, a rather snappy line of cameras that were made after World War II by various camera makers in association with film maker Gevaert. On the left in the photo above is the 1955 variant, sporting a fixed focus lens, but an f/11 lens that can be stopped down to f/16, as well as having a shutter than can accomodate two speeds in addition to a time exposure setting.  On the right is the earlier 1951 version, whose features include a zone focusing lens, an f/8 lens with three diaphragm settings to close down to f/16, but only a single shutter speed in addition to the bulb setting. At least one other variant exists of this model, dating to 1950, made by Hermann Wolf, and strongly resembling the "Adox 66" camera of the same time period.    

I first happened upon a listing that included a 1951 version several months ago and was immediately struck by its styling that combined flashier chrome trim with the traditional box camera format to make a box camera very distinctive in appearance.  I would check listings every so often for one of these beauties, but it took months before I stumbled across one priced within reason to snap up!

As luck would have it, I had not even taken delivery of this camera when I happened upon a copy of the 1955 version in a Baltimore store and priced perfectly.  I suddenly had picked up a Gevabox grouping! 

Capable but Complicated: The Samsung Maxima Zoom 105

The late 1990's brought us such bits of pop culture and technology such as the Furby, Pokemon, and the Sony Playstation.  This period also represented the final era of innovation in film cameras across the entire breadth of the field, with a digital revolution set to take hold in the new millennium.  The result is an interesting, but now often forgotten period which saw camera makers cram as much technology as possible into the range of their offerings, some of which were great, and some of which were gimmick. Still, shooting with a camera of this era that benefits from affordable advances in technology provides an interesting look into what could have been, had the progression of film camera development not been all but derailed by the advent of consumer digital imaging.      

I'm the kind of "Photo Geek" who admits to often liking a camera with little to no extra features, and have enjoyed shooting many rolls of film on cameras that lacked control of focus, and had no variability of aperture or shutter speed.  On the other side of the coin, I've also found any number of situations where I savored a shooting experience rich in control or extra features.  These have most typically been found on midrange or higher 35mm SLR cameras.  But not always.  Meet the Samsung Maxima Zoom 105.

Introduced in the mid-1990's, the Maxima Zoom is, at least on paper, a photo-geek's compact dream. In fact, I can clearly recall browsing issues of Popular Photography, and seeing the feature set of this camera and being astonished at all (including some features that I didn't even understand) that it was packing in the rather compact form factor of a zoom point and shoot.  This degree of functionality really only put a blip on the radar of the industry at the time, perhaps largely since this was a camera made by what was then a manufacturer on the periphery of the market, and looked rather pedestrian.

The Zenith of Quirk - The Comet Camera

Beginning in the late 1940's, Bencini of Milan Italy produced a number of uniquely designed 127 cameras under the "Comet" name, culminating with the very distinctive vertically situated Comet III of 1953 that remains today as a highly distinctive and desirable camera among collectors, fetching prices of over $100 on the collector market.

This review is however not of the Bencini Comet.  I may be a quirky guy with a camera but I am also a frugal guy with a family, so my likelihood of picking up a Bencini Comet are pretty slim.

However, I was fortunate enough to pick up a very distinctive 127 camera from the same era, also vertically oriented, and also bearing the Comet name, but made half a world away in the United States by Zenith Camera Corporation.

While a significant amount of American 127 cameras sold in the post war era tend to be of a nearly identical design consisting of using the "half-frame" 127 format and a fixed focus lens, the design of the Zenith Comet is completely distinct from these cameras, and features:

• Near full frame 127 images ranging between 55 and 60mm long.
• An adjustable aperture.
• Instantaneous and time exposure settings.
• A curved film plane.
• Adjustable focus from 4 feet to infinity.
• A uniquely inset viewfinder.

Square Shooter - Part I - The Bantam Flash "282" Folding Camera

I have a tendency to like to interject idioms or expressions into my postings, and in this case, I feel the need to do a common intro theme to what is a natural pair of postings with the following theme: An Opportunity Lost is An Opportunity Gained.

Most hobby photographers (and many pros) are often well aware of the phenomenon known as GAS, or "Gear Acquisition Syndrome."  It's a tendency to want to constantly add to your inventory of photographic items, either with new cameras, new lenses, or even new accessories.  Even on a greatly reduced budget such as mine, there are cheap opportunities to add to one's collection.

When I first saw results on Lance Rothstein's "labeauratoire"site from the square format 35mm shooter known as the Minolta 24 Rapid, I had a lot of interest in picking one up when the opportunity might present itself.  However, due to some reluctance after a few too many bad rangefinder acquisitions, I dragged my feet when a cheap example popped up for sale, and someone else beat me to it.

Perusing the interwebs for other possibilities, I came across a striking suggestion to MAKE a square format camera from an 828 body.  As a huge fan of 828, the idea certainly struck a chord with me, and with some help from my buddy Mark at the Gas House, I managed to install a pair of varied mods to make this interesting idea a reality.  Each of these concepts has some uniqueness, and both have some advantages over the other.  

Have a look at this "creation" of a square shooter.

The 282 camera never really existed, but after "creating" one with only a minimal amount of effort, I'm at something at a loss in wondering why it didn't.

Box Camera Deluxe or TLR Lite - Part II - The Argoflex Forty

Variety is the spice of life in the world of medium format film photography. There are capably crafted SLR bodies as well as handy portable folding cameras.  There are timeless and treasured TLR cameras and basic budget-conscious box cameras. And then there are the interesting animals that tend to eschew the classifications above. They are neither truly TLR nor box camera, yet in some ways they are both of these.

Often referred to as "Pseudo-TLR Cameras," I tend to prefer a tad more delineation of the genre's nomenclature to the include the more depictive terms "Box Camera Deluxe" and "TLR Lite."

And what is interesting is that despite one these terms seeming to sound more derogatory than the other, you will find that this is hardly so.  I picked up an example of both of these sub-genres, each costing under $20, and am posting simultaneous reviews of each for your reading and viewing pleasure.

Resistance was Rediculous.

First things first: I LOATHE the 620 film format. Kodak's "idea" to create a "new" format identical in size to 120 but with a spool that can only fit in a 620 camera is just the sort of propietary format decision that I hate.

I am not opposed to reinvention and innovation. I can really like a "reinvented" format like 828 that, despite a film stock width identical to 35mm, offers benefits in both a measurably larger image size and a smaller form factor than the 35mm thanks to the smaller film rolls.  But I saw no such benefit from 620, so I elected to swear it off, both on the matter of stubborn principle, and so that I didn't have to stock film rolls in both formats, one of which was technically obsolete.

But my resistance turned out to be rediculous, as I began to trod down a slippery slope of which I was not even aware. And that slope's name was Verichrome Pan.

Verichrome Pan should certainly be among the contenders for the top three Kodak films of all time. Devised in 1956 as a successor to Orthochromatic Verichrome, and as the alternate to Plus-X in all formats larger than 35mm, the film had a tendency to be very gracious with regards to exposure latitude, which made it the easiest film to use in a range of cameras that were not the most technologically advanced.

Despite not being made for decades, the film also has a serious reverence among many present day film photographers who are able to shoot and develop Verichrome that is 50 years or older and still manage some amazing images.  I was first amazed by VP on one of my Autographic experiments and have kept an eye out for affordable stocks of this phenomenal film.  I have picked up this excellent film in the 828, 120, 116, 122, and 127 formats... and in 620.

That's right, 620. While I would concentrate on snapping it up in the formats for which I had cameras, it was seeming as though I was always spotting Verichrome at great prices in 620 format. Since I could still easily cut down the film to other formats or re-roll it onto 120 spools, it made perfect sense to add it to the stable. And then I one day realized I had a lot of 620 film. Conundrum.

I realized that my self imposed moratorium on 620 cameras maybe, just maybe, needed to have an exception made.  Besides, the person who collects old cameras will often willingly look for any excuse to add a new piece to their collection, and I could hardly claim that I was any different from most vintage camera collectors.

I didn't give a massive amount of thought to just what camera would constitute the "620 section" of my collection, other than to determine that I likely wanted to skip folding cameras, since I had plenty in 120. Instead, I wanted to get a camera that was essentially made only in 620, and initially figured I might pick up what just might constitute the "trademark" 620 camera: the Brownie Hawkeye. It was a neat looking camera that clearly echoed its mid-century origins, but there was one ethical problem I had with it, it was a Kodak product, the very Kodak whose "innovation" led to the creation of this rediculous format of 620 in the first place. Conundrum again.

Sure, I had a number of Kodak cameras that I savored, and obviously, my pickup of a used Hawkeye wasn't sending money into Eastman Kodak's pockets, so there would be no deposit that would signal that I was OK with Kodak making a bogus new format, given that this happened over half a century ago, and 620 had since bowed out with 120 remaining. But the hapless rebel in me still resisted a Kodak 620 pickup, and kept my eyes open for something else unique to 620.

As it turns out, I wouldn't have to look for long, as I soon spotted the perfect 620 pickup, made by none other than Argus.

While bearing some resemblance to a TLR, the basic operation of the Argoflex Forty is a bit more similar to a box camera.