Nikon F5

Concept: 4 out of 5
Execution: 4 out of 5
Yeah, but: It's the five-ton truck of the 35mm world.

The Long Version: I have a problem: I like cameras. The Nikon F5 has been on my to-buy list for a couple of years, but back then their prices were beyond what I was willing to spend on a film camera and I bought the more reasonable F100 instead. Happily, this past spring the benevolent spirits of Craigslist came through for me, and now a legendary F5 is mine.

If the D800 is the God Nikon then the F5 a Titan. It's the camera that all modern pro and semi-pro Nikons are descended from, whether they're film or digital. The button-and-dial control layout started here, and it's amazingly seamless to switch between the F5 and a digital body – maybe too easy.

The F5 is fast. Really, really fast. Not only is the shutter blackout incredibly brief, the film advance is so quick that its sound is subsumed within the not-subtle shutter and mirror noise. Working with the F5 barely feels like using film at all, which is a little scary with a camera that can rip through an entire roll in under five seconds.

Needless to say, I keep my F5 in single-frame mode whenever it's loaded.

Holding the F5 is like looking at a photo from the D800: unreasonably awesome. If I'm ever concerned about needing to bludgeon my way through a wall or out of a crowd, the F5 is absolutely the camera that I'll want to carry. I'm pretty sure that, if swung with enough force, the Nikon F5 could disassemble just about any camera out there and still work flawlessly.

The F5 feels better to hold than any other Nikon I've tried, and it proves that in 1996 Nikon still knew how to build a proper thumb rest. But sadly, they quite literally don't make them this way any more. The incredible impression of solidity that the F5 enjoys at least partially comes from not needing all of the buttons, screens, and flippery that infest digital cameras. The F5 isn't a gadget, it isn't something to fiddle with or check out – it takes photos and asks no questions.

The vertical grip is worth a quick mention. These days it's common to see a complete suite of controls on either the pro bodies or the accessory grips for the more compact cameras, but the F5 only has the basics: shutter release, AF-On button, and a lockout switch. The grip itself is also fairly subtle, so the camera is held with an open hand instead of a gripping fist. That's unlike any vertical grip on the market today, but it's still effective and – I might as well say it – it keeps the bulk of the camera down.

The F5 is also the last Nikon film camera to offer Live View: it has a removable prism, much like many of its Medium Format friends. Even without the various alternative viewing devices that can be attached, such as the waist-level hood or magnifying eyepieces – which are still quite expensive – sliding the prism off of the top of the camera can provide a look-down viewing alternative. Perhaps that's not the most useful feature, but it can be a fun trick to do with a room full of digital kids.

By today's standards the F5's five-point autofocus sounds primitive, but it's accurate and sensitive. I tend to use just the centre autofocus point with all of my cameras, and only occasionally move to a different point for predictably off-centre compositions, and the F5 is perfectly capable of playing along.

I did make a big mistake when learning about the autofocus with my F5, though – I tried it with the 80-200/2.8D lens. This is a heavy lens that depends on the camera's built-in motor to drive its focusing system, and I assumed that because it's a contemporary of the F5 that the two would be a good match. Very bad move: it was, and now I want an 80-200.

The F5 is powered by eight AA batteries, and its focusing motor could probably tear some lenses in half. The 80-200's huge elements were thrown into position with such force that I could feel the lens and camera – an eighteen-pound combination – jump and recoil in my hands. Using it with smaller AF-D lenses isn't as dramatic but is equally effective; the F5 has given my 85/1.8D new life. To think that I was once considering selling it…

Contemporary AF-S and VR lenses are fully compatible with the F5 as well, but what they gain in silent autofocus they lose in cool zipp-zipt sound effects. There's a lot to be said for old-school.

The only real drawback to the F5 is its size and weight, but those are also two of its better assets. Yes, my GA645zi is a smaller camera with a negative two and a half times bigger; having such a mousy little neg from a camera this size does seem pretty absurd. But if there's one thing that I've learned about photography it's that the camera fundamentally changes the process, and using the F5 is almost enough to make me feel 'macho' despite its rather modest endowment.

And yes, the F100 is a nice camera too, having mostly the same internals but being much more sensibly sized. As a second camera, such as one that backs up a digital body or as one that won't see very much use, it's a completely logical choice. I'm going to sell mine anyway – using it is simply no match for the F5 experience.

Compared to using a digital SLR the F5 does need a slightly different way of thinking. Its metering is excellent, but my favourite negative films are actually less forgiving than my D800, so I do need to watch out for high-contrast scenes and small highlights again. This is where I really miss the ability to use the rear control dial for "easy exposure compensation"; it's a shame to waste one of the dials in command-priority modes. The front command dial is also in a subtly different position than on the newer cameras, positioned more toward the lens-side of the grip, and the dials are also stiffer than on the current digital bodies.

I also have to remember that it's normal to see 'grain' with iso400 films – even my little Canon S100 has cleaner files than what Portra400 or XP2 can give me, but that's completely missing the point.

Using any film camera these days is an affectation – I doubt that anyone still depends on the F5 to get the shot that will pay their rent. Similarly, digital cameras are now so far beyond what small-format film can capture that using the F5 will actually be a step down from the image quality of any entry-level SLR from the past few years. That's completely okay. The charm of film these days is exactly the flaws, grain, quirks and colour palette that becomes an indivisible part of the image, and the different processes that changes the entire mindset around its photography.

So given that film is inherently an indulgence, why not use the biggest and the best that Nikon has ever made? The F5 is unquestionably a Pro camera, and these days it can be afforded by mere mortals. While I got lucky and found one in very good cosmetic condition, I wouldn't hesitate to buy one that looks like it's been bouncing around in the back of a truck. Given a moderate amount of shopping skills it shouldn't be too hard to convert $800 into an F5, 50/1.4D lens, and enough film to get started with. That's a small price for immortality.

last updated 22 june 2012

Ken Kirkwood on the Fujifilm GX680

I recently received an email from UK-based photographer Ken Kirkwood about his experience with the Fujifilm GX680 family of cameras, of which I had previously reviewed the Mark III version. I have to say that reading his letter makes me want to get out with my camera again, so it's time to pull some film out of the freezer.

With his permission, I'm including it in its entirety here. Ken has also been kind enough to provide these sample photos.

It was with great interest that I recently read your excellent review of this fabulous camera.

As a professional here in the UK working mainly on location shooting architecture and interiors (amongst many other subjects) I have used the 680 since 1990. I started with a Mark 1 (obviously as that was the only one available then!)

In my view it was the 'perfect' camera for the work I was doing, not that there is such a thing as a 'perfect' camera.

I found that it combined many of the useful/essential features of a view camera with the mobility of a medium format kit. Obviously the word mobility is used in the context of it being quicker and easier to handle than a Sinar or a Linhof, both of which the 680 replaced. It is still a lump to carry round. My assistants used to say it was a Hasselblad built by Tonka Toys, which sums it up beautifully, I suppose!

I later added a Mark 2 then finally a Mark 3, which was an improvement on a camera which I thought could not be improved on!

To say I used it a lot is an understatement! For example just ONE of roll film backs' exposure indicated shows 150,000+ exposures on that back alone!

Whilst it is bulky to transport and carry around it didn't seem to matter too much as I was shooting mainly interiors in offices, hotels etc so on location we usually transported the camera kit plus lighting on trolleys. Outdoors it was a different story but it was still possible to move around with the Fuji so long as it was not too far! I was very interested to see your solution to carrying it on location.

If I had to move/shoot fast or over some distance I resorted to the Hasselblad kit.

We literally transported the beloved Fuji all over the world from Hong Kong, the Middle East and the Caribbean by air freight. In Europe it was just case of throwing all the equipment (in big Peli cases) plus lighting and grip kit in our van and just set off.

None of my 680s ever once let me down on any shoot anywhere. The only problems we ever had—and these were minor and easily overcome by using spares—was with the roll film backs and this was just because of amount of use to which they were subjected! They just wore out!

The image quality of the lenses was incredible—but that I suppose is subjective. I have never been a nerd that had to feel better knowing how may lines per millimetre a lens could deliver. That is chimera in any case, in my view, as any superiority any lens might in theory display eg a Zeiss Biogon is nullified when an image is reproduced in print in a brochure. That is the reason I was shooting so when the images went through the four colour reproduction process they were normally only printed using a maximum screen process of 360. So it was not possible to detect what lens was used to deliver the final image!

Because of the subjects I was shooting my most used lenses—possibly my favourites, too!—were initially the 65 and 80 mm. I could hardly wait until the fabulous 50 mm came out! I loved that lens even more.The front standard movements, rise, fall, cross and tilt made the camera unbeatable for interiors whilst with the shutters being in the lenses it meant that flash sync. was not ever a problem. Long exposures were easy and accurate, this was essential because I was using tungsten lighting or available light almost exclusively.

Because of the rail extensions and front tilt it made the 680 an ideal camera when shooting food on location as we often had to do in hotels. Sometimes we had two 680s on different tripods setting up a food shot on camera and shooting another dish on the other as it was prepared. So we could move FAST and more than often had to! Clients loved the quality and resolution of the 680 as well as the format as well as the mobility and speed of use of the camera itself. My time was their money so I always worked FAST.

My total lens kit comprises 50, 65, 80, 180, 210, 300. 500 and the HUGE zoom—what a lens that is! Both it and 500 each had be supported on a special extended plate before attaching to a tripod! I also have several 120/220 roll film backs, bellows, extension tubes, finders, etc plus batteries and chargers. Almost as soon as we arrived at a location we would plug in a charger, just in case, because we would shoot a LOT of roll-film 120 and 220 per day using Kodak EPP, or Fuji RTP, or Provia films as well as the excellent Fuji Instant film. I never shot much, if any, Velvia which I could never get on with. But we hardly ever had a flat battery even after a long day's shooting.

The ability to rotate the magazine was also a terrific bonus but perhaps the best feature of this camera was the format 6x8 cm. It is almost on the same diagonal as 35 mm, 6x4,5 and 5x7". And it is an almost perfect fit on A4 paper. A win-win situation.

At the same time as I was using the 680 I was also using the other Fuji masterpiece: the 6x17 panorama camera, with three lenses.

Sadly these days the beloved Fuji (or the FOOJ as my assistants used to call them!) is hardly used. Lack of work and the cost benefits (to clients at least) of digital medium format has rather made it unnecessarily redundant. I know it is possible to use my Sinar Eyelike digital back on a 680 body with an adapter but its' 645 format negates the benefits of the 680 format. Also, the widest angle lens the 50mm is nothing like as wide on the 645 format so all my lenses immediately would become 'longer'. How very sad. I miss it so much and it breaks my heart to see this fabulous kit unused but there is almost no second-hand market for it especially in the UK. But there is no way I could just dump it all…

I just think that this fabulous camera should be more appreciated and have—and should have had—a better press. That other photographers never accepted it or even investigated it is their loss. Years ago a pro dealer I used in London, when I asked about ordering a Fuji 680 item said 'I don't know any photographer, especially of architecture, who would ever use that camera'. I said 'How about me?' He investigated it and lo, and behold he stocked it and sold it!

I used the camera to photograph the work of some of the best known architects and interior designers in the world. It was not uncommon for us to return home at the end of a shoot overseas, in Europe or the UK with literally hundreds of rolls of film. Almost all shot without instant film/Polaroids. I knew I could rely on the 680 and it NEVER let me down. EVER.

In terms of cameras I have owned and used almost all the Big Names in medium and large format: Hass, Rollei, Mamiya, Pentax, Linhof, Sinar, but none of these ever came close to the Fuji 680. The optimum compromise. As near perfect as a camera can get, in my book. I think the man in Japan who conceived, designed and then manufactured it deserves all the credit and accolades he should have. So does Fuji Photo. But he will always be an unsung hero. How sad. What a shame, too, that they no longer manufacture it.

What also made it so great was the format: 6x8 cm which is wider than 6x7 but not so wide as 6x9 and the added 'hidden' bonus was the fact that with 9 frames per roll (or 18 on 220) it was easy to bracket three exposures per shot without having an odd image at the end of a roll of film.

I understand that it had a greater appreciation in the US and obviously could attract a much bigger customer base there. But you have already discovered just how good it is. Great news.

Sure, it takes a little getting used to to really appreciate its' qualities but that also applies to another Great Lump: the fabulous Boeing 747! They are both in the same league in my book: big, brilliant, unequaled work-horses.

I just thought you might like to share my Fuji 680 thoughts. If any have any contacts interested in purchasing a Mark 1 or Mark 2 body please put them in touch.

But again thanks for an excellent and justified review, I agree with every word you wrote—and then some!

Ken has vastly more experience with the GX680 than I ever will; while I do cherish it, mine mostly lives in its purpose-built storage unit and only comes out to play a couple of times a year. But Ken's experience rings true for me as well. If medium format film ever becomes scarce, my 680 is the camera that it will be dedicated to.

I also had to laugh when I read Ken's characterization of the Hasselblad as the system he would resort to when he'd need "to move/shoot fast or over some distance". That's exactly why I bought my 500c/m – the idea of a `blad as a small, convenient camera is something that makes perfect sense to people who use the GX680. The Fuji has a dedicated Kata 210 backpack and wooden tripod that also needs its own bag, while the Hasselblad can slip into my usual Billingham Hadley Pro and fits on a tripod that can be hand-carried. But I'd still only use the little Swedish camera when that added mobility is more important than image quality.

While many photographers are just being reintroduced to Fujifilm through its retro-styled "X-series" digital cameras, to me the GX680III will remain their greatest achievement. There may not be a 'perfect' camera, but the 680 remains undefeated.


Ken Kirkwood can be reached at
ken at kenkirkwoodphotographer dot com.
His website is kenkirkwoodphotographer.com.

last updated 13 june 2012

Fujifilm GA645Zi

Concept: 3 out of 5
Execution: 3 out of 5
Yeah, but: Despite its large size, it's a very small camera.

The Long Version: Fujifilm makes good cameras, and always have. While their most recent renaissance has surprised everyone, including Fuji, they have a long tradition of making quirky cameras that are genuinely designed for photographers. That must be why they also release more cheap mass-market point-and-shoot cameras per year than any other manufacturer – it keeps their marketing department distracted.

One year ago today – in an unbelievable coincidence – I looked at Fuji's GX680III, their ultimate medium-format studio camera. I was impressed enough by it to start looking at other medium format cameras, which is how I ended up owning its smaller sibling, the Fujifilm GA645Zi. This little gem was introduced in 1998, first in the goldy 'titanium' colour, and only later in an all-black model.

The Fuji GA645 series is an entire family of fixed-lens autofocus cameras that's an extension of the previous GS folding-lens manual-focus cameras. The "6x4.5" negative is actually about 56mm by 41mm, making it small by medium format standards but still two-and-a-half times the surface area of a 35mm negative. That's definitely bigger-enough to show a quality improvement over 135 film, and makes the negatives easier to scan and more forgiving to deal with. Used properly, the 645 format gives just as much usable image as a cropped 6x6 frame, with the advantage of having a few extra exposures per roll.

More specifically, the Fujifilm GA645Zi that I use is the zoom-lens version of the older GA645 that Dante Stella has already ably reviewed. But despite the similarity of the names, the Zi is a very different model from the other variants. It's the only one with a zoom lens, and the entire front of the camera has been restyled into something that looks a little more conventional than the original.

The GA645 family of cameras have autofocus, power film loading and advance, built-in meters, and are completely at home in Program and Aperture Priority modes. I'm not quite sure what the technical definition of a "point and shoot" camera would be, but the GA's are pretty much there. They have an exposure compensation button, but that and setting your own film speed are about it for over-rides. There is a large control dial, which is used for changing settings, but this camera isn't hard to figure out.

Yet for a camera with such simple operation, there is a bit of complexity to deal with: the mode dial has "A" and "AS" positions to choose from. Both are aperture-priority, and the difference only matters when using the flash. The "AS" will use the metered exposure and add the flash for fill, which is how most cameras work in aperture priority modes, while the "A" mode will force the camera to a 1/45 shutter speed. Being a leaf-shutter camera, the flash will sync all the way up to the camera's 1/400 maximum, making the little pop-up useful for catchlights and fill even thought it can't light up a room.

While still on the subject of the mode dial, it's worth pointing out that the "P" mode is strictly program, without any "shift" that would let the photographer cycle through possible aperture and shutter speed combinations. And even though the large control wheel can't be used to directly set the shooting values while in Program mode, changing the exposure compensation remains a button-and-dial task. But as Program protects the camera from running out of shutter speed in daylight, it's still what I prefer to use.

It also doesn't hurt that "P" is right next to "Off"… convenience is king.

If you squint your eyes just right, the GZA645Zi is a spitting image of the current Fuji X10 compact camera. Okay, maybe they're not twins, but there's a definite greyhound-and-whippet family resemblance.

The medium-format GA645 is about the size of a big 35mm SLR, but much smaller than a "pro" body, or even a midrange one with a compensator-pack strap-on handgrip. Compared to a basic D700, it's a little longer but less high; when turned off it's thinner than the SLR with any lens attached. Yet if the two aren't side-by-side, the GA645Zi looks bigger and bulkier than it really is. The body is plastic, and not as sculpted as contemporary cameras, but perhaps it's the medium-format reality breaking up the expected proportions of dials, lens, and viewfinder that makes the camera look bigger than it is.

But despite the camera's respectable physical size, the GA645 is very small. It has a vertical footprint - length times height - of about 175 square centimeters, and a film surface of 23sqcm. That gives it a camera to sensor-size ratio of 7.6:1, while one of the smallest 35mm film cameras ever made, the Olympus XA, has a ratio of 7.4:1. The contemporary "compact" Fujifilm X100 is an elephantine 25:1, and the Panasonic GF3 is 32:1. Looked at from the opposite direction, to have a typical digital happysnaps match the GA645's ratio of sensor size to physical size, the camera would be about as large as a dime. So while the GA645Zi isn't about to fit in a trouser pocket, it really is an amazingly compact camera.

Even with that bit of rationalizing aside, the GA645Zi is a small camera in other ways as well. It doesn't need a tripod, light meter, or any of the other accoutrements that usually go with medium-format image quality. It has a fixed lens, so there's no need for a bag full of alternative perspectives. In fact, there's no need for a camera bag at all. I found the vertical strap lugs too tempting to pass up and just carry the camera on a Domke shoulder strap most of the time. All it really needs is a few of extra rolls of film, and a new pair of CR123 batteries every year or two.

Running 120 film horizontally through the camera makes the negative 6cm high, so the width needs to be 4.5cm. That gives the GA645 a natural portrait orientation, which takes a little getting used to at first. The viewfinder zooms along with the lens, in addition to having frame lines that change to give an approximation of the frame size at different focusing distances.

The viewfinder of the Zi leaves me with mixed feelings. My subjective impression is that it's a little small and not the brightest, but then I tried it against a Nikon D7000 and the size and brightness looked about the same. But there's always a little flare around point sources of light, and it's never really crisp even with the diopter adjustment.

I suspect that part of my uncertainty about the viewfinder comes from the tunnel effect; even with eyeglasses I have no problem seeing the full frame. It's a short tunnel, to be sure, but the Fujifilm Zi doesn't have the same window-on-the-world effect as my other ZI, the magnificent m-mount Zeiss Icon.

The other non-ideal aspect of the GA645Zi's viewfinder is that it shows fairly strong barrel distortion. This has nothing to do with the lens, as it's not a TTL viewfinder, but it still makes it more difficult to create a composition that's straight, square, and level. The lens itself does have barrel distortion at its wider end, but it's not an issue at its longest setting.

The lens on the Zi is 55-90mm, which works out to about 35-55mm in 35mm equivalents – although in a 4:3 rectangle, not 3:2 – and it has two intermediate steps in its zoom. Taking about a second to power through its range, the zoom does make some noise when it's working; while it's probably not loud enough to interrupt a conversation, I wouldn't want to use it when complete discretion is required.

The Zi doesn't actually have an autofocus confirmation beep, but you could be forgiven for thinking that it does. The AF motor makes noise when working, and since the lens resets itself to infinity between focusing, the camera always makes its quick two-tone chirp, even for a quick follow-up shot of the same subject. It's higher pitched but much quieter than the zoom motor, and sounds nothing at all like the shutter of most SLRs.

Autofocus is quick, and by combining passive and active systems it can literally focus in complete darkness without needing an assist lamp. Don't think that's an opportunity to be sneaky, though, since the yellow light from the viewfinder's information display can be seen through the front-facing window.

With just one AF point, the GZA645 cameras are big advocates of the focus-and-recompose style of photography. Manual focus is theoretically possible, but it's set through the menu as a focusing distance, which is two different ways of reaching 'useless'. But even when autofocusing, it's good to be in the habit of checking the LED distance scale on the right side of the viewfinder. Make sure that the dot looks like it's marking a realistic distance to your subject, as that's the only way to know if the sensor has actually hit the right spot. If the dot's flashing then it didn't lock on, which usually tells me that I'm closer than the camera's 1m minimum focusing distance.

The Zi captures sixteen shots on a roll of 120 film, and the film loads directly into the camera instead of being run through an insert. That makes it less complicated to load than a Hasselblad, in that it doesn't require more than two hands, and there's nothing to lose or break that can't be replaced for the cost of another roll of film. Simple. I like that.

The tremendous image quality in a (relatively) compact package, straightforward operation, and long battery life makes for a powerful travel camera. Autofocus makes it less taxing to use, auto film winding and advance means fewer chances for user error, and its somewhat goofy appearance should make it less attractive to the criminal underworld. This really is a medium-format camera that you could hand to a stranger in a tourist spot anywhere in the world, and not only get it back, but have them take a well-exposed and accurately focused photo with it as well. Just try doing that with a Leica or a 'blad.

The one real travel-camera shortcoming that it has is its slow lens, which reduces the usable margins at the edges of the daytime, but it turns out that that doesn't matter as much as I expected it to.

The Zi is an incredibly stable camera to hand-hold in low light. While I would stay above 1/30 for photographs that depend on fine detail, with care shutter speeds of 1/15s or lower are perfectly reasonable. When properly braced I've come away with adequately sharp photos from 1/6 second exposures, even though the camera remains hand-held. It's a substantial camera with a dainty little leaf shutter, so despite its not-too-bright lens it still performs remarkably well during dawn, twilight, and bad weather.

For tripod-night photography the Zi is still a decent contender, even though adding a cable release and handheld light meter removes much of its size and simplicity advantages. Aperture priority mode will only meter down to 2 seconds, and beyond that needs the "bulb" mode to be set with the camera in manual mode. There's a threaded socket for a traditional mechanical cable release on the side of the camera body, and the lack of a mirror and the aforementioned dainty shutter means that there's essentially no vibration when the photo is taken.

One potential problem that only applies to the GA645's Zi model is that the info LCD is on the film door, and connected to the body with a ribbon cable that can fail over time. This panel is a secondary display for the shutter speed and aperture, and displays the film setting (120/220), battery status, iso, frame counter, and exposure compensation value. It's also used to set the time and choose the data that is imprinted below each frame. Losing this display can cause some problems, and cameras without it should be considerably less expensive than fully-functional ones.

But there are a couple of work-arounds. There is an indicator in the viewfinder that shows when EV Comp is active, but not the amount or direction, although the exposure compensation is reset every time the camera is turned off. So one way or another this can be set – in half-steps – by feel. The iso value can also be set even if the display isn't working by counting the number of clicks. Spin the dial a lot in one direction; camera-left turns the value down and camera-right turns it up. The steps are Auto (for Fuji's bar-coded film) and then proceed in thirds-stop increments from there. Simply count out: 25, 32, 40, 50, 64, 80, 100, 125, 160, 200, 250, 320, 400, 500, 640, 800, 1000, 1250, 1600.

If the LCD is working, then the letter "A" will show when the iso setting matches a Fuji bar-coded film's box speed. This could be a useful setting if the camera is being used with different sensitivities of Fuji film, but all of the 120 film that I like is 400, and I typically choose a lower speed to force a certain amount of over-exposure anyway.

I see two main uses for the GA645Zi. Naturally, it's an excellent choice as a simple camera for casual and street photography, but with the quality of medium format film. Whether it's travelling to distant lands – Disney, Marine, Holy – or a back alley nearby, it's a robust and unassuming camera that can be slung over a shoulder and carried with ease.

The other role for a GA645 is as a secondary camera: the smaller, simpler companion to the main rig. Having one of these in the camera bag that also houses something more substantial, like a Hasselblad or a Fujifilm GX680, means that only one type of film needs to be carried. This simplifies logistics and opens up photo opportunities that the Serious Camera on a tripod can't do.

I love being able to go out for a day with just a couple of rolls of film in my pocket and the camera in hand. I try to keep my camera bag under ten pounds when it holds everything for a trip; the Zi weighs two pounds and only needs film. The flat profile of the vertically-carried GA645 means that it's less bulky than an SLR when it's slung on a shoulder strap, and the plastic body doesn't worry me when it scrapes and bumps into things.

While it wouldn't be my choice as an only camera to own, the GA645Zi is the first one that I reach for when I want to carry something good for no particular reason. That might sound like an odd endorsement, but I spend most of my time with nothing pressing to photograph, so having a camera with great image quality but a less serious intent becomes a huge asset. I'm making a real effort to simplify, relax, and embrace the vernacular. Having a little camera like the GA645Zi has been a huge help for that.


All of the photographs for this review were taken on Fuji 400H film, including the photos of the camera, which were captured with my Fujifilm GX680III. Since the Canadian Fuji reps were okay with me photographing their X100 prototype with my Zeiss Ikon while it was loaded with Kodak film, that only seems fair.

last updated 16 Jan 2012

Olympus XA

Concept: 5 out of 5
Execution: 4 out of 5
Yeah, but: What digital compact will still be used 30 years from now?

The Long Version: The Olympus XA is small. Very, very small. More than thirty years after it was introduced, it's still the worlds smallest rangefinder camera that takes 35mm film. The XA has a non-collapsing 6-element 35/2.8 lens that covers the full 24x36mm frame, and has a built-in light meter for electronically-controlled aperture-priority exposure. The entire depth of the camera, measured from the front of the lens cover to the back of the film door, is thinner than the distance from the lens mount to the sensor plane in any 35mm or APS SLR.

While it's not an auto-everything camera that can be handed to a random local for a quick tourist portrait, it's simple enough to use that it could be mistaken for a manual-focus point-and-shoot. Compared to the pseudo-Victorian clockwork-complexity of the similarly-sized Rollei 35, which has a collapsing lens and a guess-the-distance focusing system, it comes across as a cheap plastic toy. But despite its appearance, the XA is a solid and tough little camera; while it may not equal the controllability of its bigger classmates, its capabilities are far greater than its size suggests.

For Olympus to create a tiny a six-element lens that can cover the full 35mm film frame without critical quality issues is amazing. Sharpness is very good, and it shows just a mild pincushion distortion and moderate vignetting. Unusually for a rangefinder, the lens is apparently a telephoto, which allows it to be shorter than its focal length. To make a camera like the XA with a "full frame" digital sensor is probably impossible. Its closest modern cousin, the "APS-C" Sigma DP series, are 40% thicker even with their collapsable lenses retracted, but their lenses cover less than 45% of the XA's sensor area. The Olympus XA is small.

There are downsides to miniaturization, of course. The frame lines aren't corrected for parallax, so the composition is even more approximate than usual for a rangefinder. The lens is a 35mm f/2.8, which some people will think is slow, but that forgets that an f/number is actually a mathematical ratio. Much more significantly, the compact design means that the baby Olympus is very susceptible to the rampant finger-in-front-of-lens problem that just doesn't happen with big cameras. But considering that "the best camera is the one you have with you" school of though has resulted in published books of cell-phone photos, I'm happy to have something the quality of the thirty-year-old XA tucked in my back pocket.

The Olympus XA is the cosmic answer to all of those "compensating for something?" jokes that photographers face when they use big cameras with long lenses. It's small enough to hold in one hand and has a wicked hair-trigger.

The other size concession is to have an incredibly light touch on the shutter button. Intended to minimize camera-shake for people who are used to bigger and heavier bodies, it's a nasty shock when I'm habitually looking for a half-press-to-focus action from a camera this size. If I tried hard enough, I could probably trip the shutter with the brush on my Lenspen. My first roll of 24 exposures had three accidental frames on it; I've since learned to close the cover as soon as I'm done taking a picture, but I still accidentally trip a couple of frames in the typical 36-exposure roll. This isn't a camera to shoot dollar-a-frame chromes with. What's more, I'm not entirely convinced that the featherweight shutter cuts down on camera shake, but there's no real way for me to test that.

I bought the original XA model over its cheaper descendants because it's the only one with rangefinder focusing. So it's with a certain sense of incongruity that I have to report that the XA is really easy to use without looking at the camera at all.

With the camera cover safely closed, move the focusing lever to the right (shutter-button side) until the left-hand edge of the focusing tab is pointing down as much as possible. That's 3m, which the manual recommends to have everything in focus. To refine the focus a little more, moving the tab all the way to the right is infinity, and having it square to the bottom of the camera is 1.5m/4.5ft. When the right side of the tab is pointing down as far as possible it's at 1m/3ft, and all the way to the right is the minimum focusing distance, which is about arm's-reach away, although close distances really do benefit from the better precision of the rangefinder.

The manual suggests f/5.6 and 3m (9ft on American models) as the best all-purpose setting, but I like to err on the side of caution and use f/8 instead. Without looking at the camera, slide the aperture selection switch to either end – f/2.8 or f/22. Now move it three clicks toward the middle. That's f/8. As the saying goes, all that's left is to be there.

For night photography, it's really best to keep the XA at f/2.8. The starburst patterns from the four-bladed aperture are a long way from being subtle. Exposure compensation is also a challenge; there's a +1.5EV setting for dealing with contra-jour subjects, but otherwise the only control is to adjust the film speed. While I will mess around with that kind of detail for slides or digital, with 135 negative film I usually over-expose by as much as a full stop and everything scans in just fine.

The XA is still a 'serious' camera, but not one that demands very much in return. It's easy to carry and not monetarily valuable – it doesn't cost nearly what it's worth – so there's no reason to leave it at home or in the bag. It's probably not as good a camera as my Yashica GSN, and my Zeiss Ikon and 35/2 completely smokes it, but that comparison misses the point. The Olympus XA was the counterpart to the Canon AE-1 in the same way that its offspring, the Olympus XZ, coexists with whatever Canon Rebel happens to be current this week.

Not a lot of people routinely use film any more, but for those who do I don't need to explain its appeal. (For those who don't, I can't.) I could use a digital camera – I do own several of them – and compact snapshot cameras are an obvious candidate for digital replacement. The thing is that casual film photography is still very different from digital photography; its inherent unnecessariness adds something to the results. There's a lot to be said for the surprise and imperfection of film, and this little pocket rangefinder captures the essence of it. Long may it live.

last updated 30 oct 2011

Ilford XP2 Super

Concept: 3 out of 5
Execution: 3 out of 5
Yeah, but: All I did was take pictures…

The Long Version: I suppose the question has to be: "Why bother?" In this age of digital photography, why bother with film at all? In a time when computer processing allows infinite adjustability as colour turns into monochrome, why bother with black and white film? And if I'm going to the trouble of using an anachronistic medium, why bother stopping half-way there? Why not just go all the way to the classic silver films like Tri-X?

Ilford XP2 Super – hereafter simply "XP2" – is a modern monochrome film that's built with the same dye-based technology as colour negative film. This means that it can be processed in the chromogenic C-41 chemistry that's used by every mini-lab in the world. The only other black and white film that can do that is Kodak's 400CN; internet wisdom has it that the Kodak film is better for prints straight from the minilab, while the Ilford film is better for everything else. I've never used the Kodak, and I've never done lab prints, so I can't really comment on that.

Traditional B&W film needs to be processed in different chemistry from colour negatives. While that's relatively easy to do at home with a minimum of equipment and space, commercial processing is rarely available and really misses the point. There's a whole sub-set of photographers who relish the craftsmanship and care that can customize the development of each roll for the very best results. As with any bastion of photographic tradition, hand-processed silver B&W photography has a huge range of slightly different options, each with their own advantages, disadvantages, and mythos to learn.

Me, I'm a digital photographer, even though I mostly use film. I scan the developed negatives and post-process them in Lightroom, just like any camera raw file. I have great respect for traditions and appreciate the craft, but have no desire to partake in it myself.

XP2 is the perfect companion for digital photography. Developed XP2 has no silver grains to cause aliasing problems when it's scanned, and it's tremendously tolerant of overexposure. Traditional B&W film has grain in the highlights, which is exaggerated by overexposure; chromogenic film has its grain in the shadows, so excessive exposure actually reduces the grain, along with a bit of sharpness. This gives it a different look from silver films, more akin to digital images, but with the exceptionally long tones that remain a solid advantage for those of us who don't need instant gratification.

I use XP2 in both 135 (35mm) and 120 formats, and there's no remarkable difference between the two except for the usual improvements in detail and tone that the larger negatives offer. I typically use it at iso320 in my small-format cameras, although I've recently been exposing it at 250 with good results. My medium-format machines don't have built-in meters, and I'll occasionally run them as much as a stop hotter. With its forgiving exposure latitude combined with the complete absence of white balance issues, using XP2 is by far the easiest thing I can do with a camera.

The only downside to working with a lot of monochrome film is that it' so monotonous in postprocessing; there's nothing bleaker than spending days facing a Lightroom catalog that's screen after screen of relentlessly grey thumbnails. After a half-dozen rolls I find myself longing for the smoothness of Portra or the punch of Ektar, so there's no way that I can commit to just using XP2 no matter how much I like it. But photos in black and white look great in singles and fantastic in a series, which makes it all worthwhile.

So why do I bother with XP2? I like it, it's easy, and it looks good. That's more than enough for me.

last updated 5 aug 2011

Fujifilm GX680iii

Concept: 4 out of 5
Execution: 4 out of 5
Yeah, but: It's the Chuck Norris of cameras.

The Long Version: You can tell just by looking at the Fujifilm GX680 that it's one of those cameras that's going to kick your ass. Sure as God made green apples, it's inevitable. Ready to shoot it weighs ten pounds, and that's not counting the tripod. The lens is mounted on a front standard that can do compound swings and shifts in any direction; the additional 80mm extension rails on the front of the camera lets it focus closely enough to do near-macro work with many of its lenses. With those rails and an eye-level viewfinder, the box that would hold it snugly could comfortably fit ten D3x's, yet it can be broken down into five major components in seconds. It even has a bubble level built into the top of it. An SLR doesn't get more hard-core than that.

Garry Winogrand famously said that he takes photos to see what they look like. In the four months that I've owned my GX680, I've been compelled to see what things look like when photographed through it. It's such an extreme camera that it dictates a certain way of working, and the camera will only take the kind of photos that it likes to take. Forget about sharp close-ups of hockey players on a breakaway, or subtle street photos while rolling along in a crowd. But when I'm willing to rethink the kind of photo that I want to achieve, there's very little that I wouldn't want to use the GX680 for. Its image quality and control are addictive.

Unfortunately the 680 is such a massive camera that it needs a reason to leave the house, and it's so slow to set up that it can't be used spontaneously. The logistics of having only nine exposures on a roll of 120 film requires deliberation and planning. I'd like to say that using the Fuji takes longer to describe than to do, but it really doesn't. A 'quick' setup for one of my photos with the GX680 takes at least five minutes. Set the tripod, establish the rough composition and focus, level the camera, fine-tune the composition, relevel the camera; refine the focus, adjust the perspective controls, swing the plane of focus into place, and refine the composition, camera position, and focus once more; lock the focus knob in place. Dig out the trusty hand-held light meter, because the 680 doesn't have one built in, take a couple of exposure readings and set the shutter speed and aperture. Fold down the viewfinder, turn the camera on, and lock up the mirror; take three deep breaths and gently press the shutter switch. Flip the mirror down, turn off the camera, centre and lock the lens movements, unlock the focus knob, zero the focus, and lock the knob again before moving on. Using the camera is physically and mentally exhausting.

'Steel in XP2' (see bigger)

But in exchange for all of that, the GX680 delivers a negative five times the size of 35mm film. The classic Hasselblad medium format camera creates exceptional images with its 2¼" square negative, but the GX680 captures 35% more surface area. And because the GX680 has a rotating back that captures a 4x3 ratio, it's a natural fit with minimal cropping for either a vertical or horizontal print. There are some excellent articles about medium format film sizes on photo.net (where I first learned that the GX680 exists) and on Roger and Frances' excellent Photo School website, but in a nutshell, the 6x8 nominal - 56x76mm actual - size is both one of the largest for rollfilm cameras and an excellent match for standard paper sizes. There are masks available to convert the 680 mk3 into a 6x7, 6x6, or 645 camera, but conserving film by capturing smaller negatives with the biggest SLR ever produced is missing the point.

While it doesn't boast as much perspective control as a technical large format camera, the Fuji GX680 has a good degree of their most important movements. In exchange, it gains the speed and convenience of rollfilm - everything's relative - and the ability to view and compose without having to take off the back. So while it doesn't have the sheer surface area of a large format negative, it's also true that there's always something bigger out there. The GX680III gives the automation of an SLR, including motorized film winding and advance, a last-shot warning, and fully electronic controls that can be driven from a mere six AA batteries that last a remarkably long time. As a 'system' camera, it has interchangeable film backs, and can use a waist-level finder, a 90 degree eye-level prism finder, or a metering prism that also allows aperture-priority exposure.

Whenever possible I'll use the 'waist level' finder, which is a collapsable hood with a magnifying eyepiece. The view is reversed, so moving the camera while composing can be disorienting; to shift the finder image to the right, the camera needs to swing left. I actually have used the 680 without a tripod, but framing was hopeless as I swayed around like a drunken dancer. I'll use the eye-level finder when the camera needs to be too high for me to view the top-mounted screen directly, but I'm not as confident when focusing with it. It does flip the image horizontally, so it does feel more natural to compose with it on the camera. Life's a barter.

I've never used the eye-level finder with a built-in light meter, and don't feel the need to find one. If the mirror is locked up it cuts off the light that the auto-exposure system needs, rendering its advantage moot. Since the camera is feeding an 8x8cm area with light, that's a mighty big mirror to have flying around at the moment of exposure, and I use the MLU switch whenever possible. Given the tremendous exposure latitude of good negative films, using a hand-held meter isn't all that difficult even in changing light. Since the shutter speeds are controlled in whole stops (8s to 1/400) and that the aperture only has whole click-stops, I habitually err on the side of overexposure and everything works out fine. Negative film is very forgiving.

The Fujifilm GX680iii has taught me a lot about photography. Beyond the expected lessons from working more slowly with exceptional control, I also learned that I needed a new tripod and a backpack. I've shifted the 680 from a Gitzo Explorer 2220 with a Manfrotto 410 Geared Head (above), which is wonderful but not strong enough, to a Berlebach 3032 with a Manfrotto levelling plate (lead photo). I've often read that this beast is a 'studio camera' because it's too heavy to carry, and there's a certain truth to that even though I choose to ignore it. I finally found a backpack big enough to carry it (Kata "Source" 261PL, reviewed), and while the bag itself is quite light, my total kit is easily thirty pounds. That includes only two lenses, the 80/5.6 and 210/5.6, the eye-level finder, two backs, and the tripod; odds and ends like a Sekonic 308 meter and film really don't add much to the total load.

Carrying the camera for a day isn't really a sensible option. A recent outing to the local Zoo involved many places to put the camera down, which made it tolerable but tiring. As the weather improves I'll be taking it for a couple of long walks, but as much as I adore the camera and love its image quality I'm resigning myself to the idea that I won't be able to travel between cities with it if there's a bus or a plane involved. It's not that I ever expected to be able to, as it's nowhere near as convenient to carry as my rangefinder, but the GX680 is addictive in a way that I never thought it would be.

Part of the fun of having a system camera is being able to dress it up. I have three different bellows for the GX680, and all of them appear on the camera for the hero shots in this review. The lead photo shows the standard wide bellows, which gives more room for lens movements than the original. It's long enough that it can reach the end of the (optional) 40mm extension rails, but for maximum close focusing the extended bellows and 80mm rails are needed. The tradeoff is that the extra material stops wide lenses like my 80/5.6 (35-ish in 35mm) from focusing to infinity. Depending on what I'm doing I might have to change bellows as well as lenses, which is a long way from using an all-in-one superzoom on a DSLR, but in practice it isn't that big a deal. The latches are a little fiddly, but it's easier than tying a windsor knot.

The standard bellows that came with the camera are just a placeholder until one of the better ones can be put on. It works for focusing and some movement, but it doesn't do justice to the camera. It can be seen on the camera at the very bottom of this review, where the GX680 is sitting next to my D700 with its 85mm tilt/shift lens.

One accessory that I don't yet have is a cable release; I'm looking for one but not at the expense of a great deal of time or effort. While it should theoretically improve sharpness, the shutter switch (light grey, toward the bottom-front of the left side of the camera body, and visible in most of these profile photos) is activated with a very light touch that can hardly have much effect on the camera when it's securely bolted to a heavy tripod. The sensitivity and placement of the switch is why I only keep the camera powered up when I'm about to take a picture. At about a dollar a frame, hitting the shutter by accident is not funny. The main advantage that I see for a cable release is simply better ergonomics, letting me hold a more comfortable position - sitting down, if possible - while I wait for the photo to be perfect.

Photography with a small-format camera can be a lot like hunting, with the photographer moving from place to place searching for the elusive image, but using such a big camera on a tripod is more like hanging out in a deer stand. It often involves making minor adjustments in a likely spot and then waiting for the right moment. I gave a squirrel the fright of its life when I took the photo "steel in XP2" that starts this review. It was a windy day, so I needed to wait until the wind stopped moving the loose steel band that I had focused on; I stood there so long that the street-savvy tree rat had no idea that I was there. They're not too bright, but I was still impressed.

One side effect of using such a large format is that the depth of field is relatively shallow. F/8 will look like f/4 on a 'full-frame' camera, either digital or film, f/2.8 on a 1.5x crop digital, or f/2 on a 2x crop camera like my Olympus E-1 or Panasonic GH1. But aperture is an exposure control, not a focusing adjustment: a tripod would typically be needed just because of the resulting slow shutter speeds, quite regardless of its benefits for composition and support. I prefer an extensive depth of field, so given the uncertainty of swinging manual focus with less than perfect vision, I frequently work around f/22-f/32. Even in broad daylight at my typical iso320, I've never used the Fuji's maximum 1/400 shutter speed.

I have bumped into the eight second minimum shutter speed. It happened when I was working indoors and at a close focusing distance with only marginal early-morning natural light, but that situation is so carefully described that the solution suggests itself.

There is both a hotshoe and a PC terminal on the camera, making it possible to work with studio lights or speedlights. The leaf shutter means that flashes can be used with shutter speeds up to the camera's maximum 1/400 of a second, making it relatively easy to control the ambient light. The GX680iii also has a warning buzzer that can be set to sound if it doesn't think there was enough light to create an exposure, which would happen if the strobes don't fire properly. All told it is a very capable studio camera, but my skills at visualizing light keeps me working with constant light sources for now. There's also a polaroid back for doing test exposures, but that's a solution with its own set of difficulties.

The Fujifilm GX680 was made in four variations, marked with roman numerals i through iii, and iiis. The "S" variant is the same as the III but without the movements; as nice as the GX680 is, I don't see the point of saving a pound or two by removing the one really distinctive ability that it has. The i and ii variants are mostly different from the iii by running on proprietary rechargeable batteries, which is a problem as the cameras get older. The GX680III can use a combination of CR2 and CR123 lithium batteries in the back and body, which would probably last forever, but the need for those expensive cells is superseded by the 6xAA piggyback pack on the left side of the camera. Reportedly these also work on earlier models, which are much more affordable than the newer iii's on the second-hand market. These cameras have been discontinued for many years, so the likelihood of finding one as new-old-stock in a store is pretty slim, but some of the better supply houses still rent them and may sell some of their extra accessories.

The Fujifilm GX680III is my first experience with medium format film, and while it looks intimidating, both learning the new format and assembling a true system camera has been less frightening than it appears. Part of that is from my introduction to lens movements via the Nikon 85/2.8 PC-E lens, which is spanked by what the 680 can do, but the theory's the same. I also have to give thanks for Danny Burk's excellent 680 review, which provided me with the best information about the camera, and for the whole Photo School site by Roger (Hicks) and Frances (Schultz), which has single-handedly re-educated me after years of digital photography. Cameras with movements are nothing new, and 120 rollfilm was considered an amateur format a century ago. It's not as standardized as we're used to these days, but it's not difficult.

One significant advantage to medium format is how incredibly forgiving the huge negatives are. For detail, tonal range, and exposure latitude my D700 simply can't compete, and there's no need to go as extreme as a GX680iii to get those advantages. A basic medium format camera kit can usually be found for a few hundred dollars, and any flatbed scanner with a transparency adapter will pull out plenty of detail for the largest inkjet prints that anyone's likely to make at home. For those really great images, a professional scan can enable a print that's measured in feet instead of inches. Of course the ongoing costs of film are more tangible than those of digital, but how much is a three-year-old consumer dSLR worth today? With older film cameras depreciation is essentially zero, and there's thirty or forty year's worth of them to be found second-hand. I love my GX680, and try to use it whenever I can, but there are times when its oversized personality makes it impractical despite all of its advantages. I've been thinking of the 680 as my 'first' MF camera for a while now, and soon a smaller travel camera will be joining it.

There is no perfect camera. Everything's a compromise, decisions have to be made, and priorities must be set. The beauty of the Fujifilm GX680iii is that its design decisions are massively obvious; it's a camera that's remarkably free of the fine distinctions that plague decision making. There are systems that offer some of its abilities, but nothing wraps it up in a package like this one. The Mamiya RB/RZ gets most of the way there but without offering lens movements; large format technical cameras may actually be lighter with larger negatives and more control, but they don't have the SLR's direct view and (relatively) inexpensive and abundant film.

The Fujifilm GX680 is ten pounds of pure awesomeness. Even among its closest relatives, this behemoth stands apart. Compared to the best small format film cameras, its image quality is unbeatable. Next to something like the D700+85PC-E, the flexibility of its movements puts the shift lens to shame; the digital's exposure latitude and detail are also exceeded by the film camera. As a photographic device this Fuji SLR is so extreme that it's absurd, and I wouldn't want it any other way. It's the only camera that can count to infinity - twice.


Updated, jan 2012: to mark the one-year anniversary of writing this awesome camera's review, I've followed up with a review of the GX680's little brother, the GA645Zi. As the name implies, it's a 645 format camera that has absolutely nothing in common with the big GX, except that they both take 120 format film and were made by Fujifilm at roughly the same time.

Major update, june 2012: UK photographer Ken Kirkword has written a fantastic addition to the story of the Fujifilm GX680, which I've had the opportunity to publish as a guest post here. Absolutely essential reading for anyone who's interested enough to make it all the way to the end of this review. Ken Kirkwood on the GX680 – check it out.

Kodak Portra 400

Concept: 3 out of 5
Execution: 3 out of 5
Yeah, but: Not the NC or the VC, just 400.

The Long Version: One of the more interesting souvenirs that I brought home from New York City was an exposed roll of the brand-new Portra 400 from Kodak. This film replaces the previous 400VC and 400NC formulations, and from the press release, it sounds like it's combined the best of both with no downsides. Sounds nifty, verging on too good to be true, but so far it looks like they really have pulled it off.

I have to concede that I'm not the best person to judge the new film, especially since the good people at Kodak only gave me one roll to try. Feel free to open these sample images (above and below) in a new window and replace the final "S" in the file name with "L" to see a larger image. On the other hand, what you'll be seeing is an electronically scanned version that's been reinterpreted by a different monitor in a limited colour space. I've made some effort to get the colours to look like the prints, but those are scanned second-generation copies as well. Unlike with transparencies, there's really no definitive colour reference.

For a subjective comparison, I've been showing the prints from my evaluation roll around, and have gotten positive reactions from friends, fellow photographers, and the photo lab. The colour is quite good - vibrant without being garish, and holds up quite well for portraits. Scanning it with my Nikon V driven by Vuescan is as easy as any colour film that I've tried, giving good to excellent results with very little effort. Grain is a non-issue, both because it's invisible in smaller prints, and because it's not a fault with film in the same way that noise is with digital capture.

While I don't anticipate Portra 400 replacing the quirky but powerful Ektar in my small-format cameras, I would choose it for any subject where the faster speed would be appropriate, or even for the times when I just want a no-fuss film for unpredictable conditions. I'll always have a couple of rolls on-hand as a solid second choice. Low-light photography will fall to Fuji's Press 1600, or perhaps I'll just bring my D700 out of its semi-retirement from time to time.

Updated 11 jan 2011: I've now had a chance to use the 120 film in my medium format camera, and it has become my standard colour film. Its results are as good as I hoped, with excellent tone and is very forgiving when confronted with over-exposure. I've put some large sample images and additional text over on my photo blog.

The new Portra 400 looks like Kodak really has improved on the previous Neutral Color and Vibrant Color formulations, and it's certainly better to see a new film than to simply discontinue an unpopular one. The quality that I've seen so far is very promising, and Kodak should be applauded for continuing their efforts to succeed in the marketplace.

Zeiss Ikon (First Impressions)

Concept: 5 out of 5
Execution: 4 out of 5
Yeah, but: Five years old and still not obsolete.

Let's all take a minute and think back to the beginning of 2005. It's a very long time ago: Canon has just released a follow-up to its MSRP-revising Rebel 300D, the Nikon D70 is a really big deal, the Olympus E-300 is only the second SLR in a new all-digital format, and the Ivory-Billed Woodpecker has just been rediscovered in Arkansas. Konica-Minolta is about to announce a technology sharing agreement with Sony, and Leica is on the verge of financial collapse. This was what the world looked like when the Zeiss Ikon rangefinder first appeared - a strange and slightly scary place, but with faint foreshadowing of what is to come.

So now we're in the middle of 2010: digital cameras are firmly established, Canon has brought out five more 'Rebel' models, and the remaining manufacturers look like they'll still be in business in the next few months. The irony, of course, is that ten years into the digital era, film photography has never been better. The Nikon F6 is the finest automated camera ever made, and Leica has both the mechanical MP and the electronic M7 available for the well-heeled purists. The diversity has dwindled and the selection has been savaged, but the remaining films and cameras are exceptional.

With the Zeiss Ikon, there's always the question of 'why not just buy a Leica'? Part of the answer has to be very simple: it's far less expensive than the similar M7, and far more capable than a used M6 for about the same money. Plus, I like it better - and it has no difficulty standing on its own merits. The aesthetics and the idea of the Ikon really appeal to me; with all due respect for Leica's sensibilities, the Zeiss Ikon is the pinnacle of rangefinder design without the undue burden of its history. Its creators clearly love photography, love cameras, and have a tremendous respect for the Leica tradition, but the Zeiss Ikon moves beyond it. It's electronic, it's much lighter than its German counterparts, and it has its own distinct personality.

In my formative years, my hobby was archery. It's a contemplative activity that depends on precise timing, and is not unlike photography in many ways. A friend of mine used a beautiful wooden longbow, and we both scoffed at the hunters with their compound bows sporting fiberglass pulleys and elaborate sights. That wonderful wooden longbow - tradition unhampered by progress - is a good parallel for the Leica, and wunder-plastik is universal, whether it's found in a weapon or a digital SLR. In a tellingly prescient move, I used a scoped crossbow. I still have it to this day, but I digress.

Take a look at the flight deck of the Zeiss Ikon. This is an inherently electronic camera that cannot function without its battery, and it's perfectly designed for auto exposure. But unlike the "Green Idiot" auto modes of digital SLRs, 'auto' in this context simply means 'aperture priority', which is always set directly from the lens. Exposure compensation can be set by moving the "A" indicator from -2 through to +2, in thirds-stop increments, with a firmer detent at the neutral position making it easy to find without looking. Whole-stop shutter speeds are also available for those who think that doing basic math is a creative endeavour. (If I wanted to make a hobby out of chasing a needle, I'd take up heroin instead of photography - but that's just me.) Film speeds are set by lifting this same dial and selecting the appropriate number, and once again thirds-stop positions are available. And unlike some rangefinders, there's a window in the back to show the film type for the forgetful.

The shutter release is electronic, with the power / lockout switch underneath it. There's a film plane mark resting demurely underneath the film advance lever, and the frame counter window is both magnified and protected by a raised metal surround. It's hard to get more elegant than that.

Aside from the previously mentioned aperture control and focus ring, both of which are on the lens, the only other photographic control is the silver exposure lock button that's located below the accessory shoe. And that's really all there is to it. The film door has a secure slide-and-push latch that can be opened one-handed, and the rewind crank has been relegated to the bottom of the camera where it belongs.

Ah, the viewfinder of the Zeiss Ikon. It deserves a sentence all to itself, like poetry. Bigger than on any Leica that I've tried - 5, 6, 7, 9, and MP - and far superior to any SLR on the market. The area covered by the 50mm framelines is only a little smaller than the view through the Nikons D700 and F100. With my glasses scrunched tight, I can see almost all of the 28mm framelines, but that's still not quite all of the viewable image. I was initially worried that I'd forget to use the framelines and try to compose with the full view, but that's simply not possible. It's huge and bright, with a completely different experience than the world-in-a-box of a black-framed SLR's window. My first sunny-day outing with the Ikon had me using it at the same time as the GH1, and the experience of going back to the latter camera's electronic viewfinder was crushing.

I've also used my Ikon alongside my Nikon F100, burning the same type of film in each, and come to an interesting conclusion. I've long suspected that I have a mild case of the yips, because I'll often jerk the camera very slightly when I press the shutter. It may even be my hyper-sensitive flinch reflex - I'm the youngest of three brothers - reacting to the experience of the mirror sound and blackout. Regardless of the actual cause, I found that of the 15 essentially identical images that I took with both film cameras, the Ikon's composition was stronger in seven of them, while the F100 was better in only five. The SLR should have had a much stronger showing than that, but I found that many of the SLR images show a slight rotation to the right. That was something that I had to fight with my D700 as well, but with the rangefinder's uninterrupted view, it simply isn't an issue.

The experience of film is very different from using a digital camera. Gone is the attitude of "shoot them all and let Lightroom sort it out." Exposing 36 (really, 39) images with care and consideration is as tiring and time-consuming as taking a couple of hundred digital photos, but my 'keeper' numbers remain about the same. And with the lower throughput, the cost of film is hardly an issue: exposing a full roll of film means I've had a very productive morning, but the cost of buying and developing it barely exceeds that of the lunch that I'll pick up on the way home. If I get into DIY-developed black and white films, then the cost of a roll is about the same as the round-trip bus fare to somewhere interesting - and I mean Scarborough, not Chicago.

Digital and film cameras really are in different worlds. When I'm out with my Ikon and see someone on the street with a D3x and 200mm f/2 lens, neither one of us cares what the other is carrying. Granted, I already have a D700 and a GH1, so there's no shortage of great digital cameras in my life, but now I've opted out of the whole newer+shinier=better perspective. The next big thing doesn't appeal to me any more, and it's a nice feeling.

Of course, I can hardly finish up without mentioning a couple of the points that the many other excellent reviewers have raised before me. (Johnston, Elek, Ripsher, Roger & Frances, Puts, even K'rock.) The first is the shutter speed indicator in the viewfinder. I can't see it without losing sight of the rangefinder patch, and while shutter speed is typically irrelevant for an AE camera, I would occasionally like to know ahead of time if I'm overexposed or risking camera shake. The other issue isn't with the camera, but with the people who think too much instead of taking photos: the camera is made in Japan by Cosina. Cosina, of course, also makes their own rangefinder cameras under the Voigtlander name, causing derisive air-quotes - "Zeiss" - among those who can't imagine why swing-back film loading is a good idea. As even a quick look at the battery compartments of the various Nikon Coolpix cameras will tell you, contract manufacturing is quite common. The Ikon is a beautifully built Zeiss product exactly the same way that the iPods and iPads are distinctly Apple products.

On paper, there's very little reason why I should use a rangefinder camera. I have no background in film photography to fall back on, and already have a full slate of digital gear. I'm not a 'street' photographer, don't want a fashion piece, and my current style depends on flat space, regulated geometry and active framing. But I've grown tired of the whole digital camera market, with the rapid replacement and depreciation of digital SLRs, and ever-decreasing quality of the compacts. Instead of being a limitation, having the Zeiss Ikon has been a liberation. A wise person once said: "if you don't like the answer, choose a different question." The Ikon is a wonderful step away from the pace of the digital world, is immune to (further) obsolescence, and will only get better with age.