Adox 300 Review – a 35mm Film Camera with Interchangeable Film Magazines

These days, Adox is hardly recognized as a camera company. Which makes sense, since over their 100-plus year history, the German photo-chemical company didn't make very many cameras. But somewhere in the company's mid-life, they produced the Adox 300, a unique and interesting 35mm camera with a striking design, a respectable lens, and one very distinctive feature - interchangeable film magazines which allow us to load and unload rolls of film into the camera at any time, regardless of whether the whole roll has been exposed or not.

I've been using the Adox 300 off and on for a number of months in various shooting conditions with all varieties of film. The results have been a mix of good and decent, with a few bad frames brought about by the camera's inherent weaknesses and the inherent challenge of shooting a seventy-year-old all-manual camera.

It hasn't been an easy thing to load, to hold, to shoot, or to love, but at the end of my time with it I've decided that I do indeed love it, in a certain way. It's a charming, interesting, challenging camera, and for camera-likers like me who enjoy weird, old cameras, the Adox feels just right.

Brief History of Adox and the Origin of the Adox 300

The German company which would eventually come to be known as Adox was founded in 1860 as Dr C. Schleussner Fotowerke GmbH by the eponymous Dr. Carl Schleussner.

The company was initially engaged in the development of pharmaceuticals, but when the English photographer and physician Dr. Richard Leach Maddox invented the lightweight gelatin negative dry plate for photography in 1871, Dr. Schleussner became interested in refining and adapting the new technology to other industries.

The Schleussner laboratory transformed into a factory, and soon the company was a foremost producer of gelatin emulsion dry plates. A later collaboration with physicist Conrad Wilhelm Rontgen resulted in the development of X-ray plates, and another new revenue stream for Schleussner's company.

Carl Schleussner died in 1899, but his company lived on and became a major producer of photo chemicals, film, and black-and-white paper, all sold under the Adox brand name.

In the 1920s, Adox created a small number of cameras in various formats, including 6 x 4.5, 6 x 6, 6 x 9 folders, box cameras, and 127 film cameras. Later, when the founders of the Wirgin camera company were forced to flee Nazi Germany in the 1930s, Adox acquired the designs for Wirgin's cameras and began selling them as rebranded Adox cameras. (After World War II, these designs were re-purchased by Henry Wirgin.) Following the war, Adox began designing and producing their own cameras once more, resulting in a small number of 35mm film cameras.

All told, the Adox name only ever appeared on fewer than 30 models. Of these, the most unique, most unusual, and (arguably) the best of the brand's 35mm cameras was the Adox 300 of 1956.

Specifications of the Adox 300

• Camera Type: Viewfinder 35mm film camera with interchangeable film magazines
• Lens: Schneider Kreuznach 45mm f/2.8 Xenar coated (4 elements) or Steinheil Cassar 45mm f/2.8 (3 elements)
• Shutter: Compur-Rapid leaf shutter or Synchro-Compur leaf shutter
• Shutter Speeds: 1/500 to 1 second, bulb mode for long exposures
• Focus: Manual focus only, scale focusing only
• Viewfinder: Simple viewfinder, no frame lines or focusing aids
• Exposure Meter: Uncoupled Selenium cell light meter with top plate display in EV
• Additional Features: Cold shoe for flash mounting, X flash sync cable; Self-timer; Remote shutter release via cable; Film frame counter display window
• Weight: 850 grams

What is the Adox 300

According to the spec sheet, the Adox 300 is a rather simple camera. It's a fixed-lens viewfinder camera with scale focusing, a fairly standard lens and shutter combination, an uncoupled selenium light meter, and not much else (with the exception of that one unique feature previously mentioned).

It belongs in that same class of camera with so many others which were being produced in Germany and Europe throughout the 1950s and '60s. Simple, all manual, well-built, and capable. Cameras that were made for a new class of enthusiastic amateur photographer, everyday people who were seeking to capture images of their lives, vacations, and travels with family.

In this way, it's quite typical for its time. However when we get the Adox in the hands we find a camera that's bizarre and interesting in some ways, and almost totally unique in others. It's a fun thing, stretching far beyond its spec sheet.

The first unusual feature is its shutter advance and film wind mechanism. A large ring surrounds the lens barrel, from which extends a lever which is plunged downward to advance the film and cock the shutter. This lever actuates beautifully with a mechanical ratcheting that's satisfying in both a tactile and auditory way. Two strokes are required to set the camera from rest mode to ready-to-fire mode, after which we can press the top-mounted shutter release button, same as on most cameras.

Another odd feature is the transparent window we find on the top plate of the camera. This transparent window provides a view through the top of the camera and into the film compartment, where the interchangeable film magazines live when we're exposing film. On each magazine is a mechanical film frame counter wheel, which spins with exposures. By looking through the window on the top of the camera we're able to see how many shots are left on a roll.

This frame counter feature is, of course, found on most film cameras. The way it's implemented here, however, is virtually novel.

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And then there's the main event, the film magazines themselves. 35mm film cameras with interchangeable film magazines are few, indeed. I can think of only three or four in the history of the medium which offered this feature (the ridiculous, fragile, and expensive Kodak Ektra, which I shot during a tour of the Kodak factory, is one such camera - others include the Mamiya Magazine 35 and the Zeiss Ikon Contaflex SLR). Interchangeable film magazines allow the user to swap film at any time, at will, without the need to totally finish or rewind a roll before unloading.

Here's how it works.

The roll of film is loaded into the removable film magazine, a separate metal object totally removed from the camera itself. The magazine includes a built-in mechanical dark slide, a sort of second shutter which prevents the film inside the magazine from being exposed. We then drop this magazine into the back of the open Adox 300, within which it integrates with indexing posts and rotating screw drives. These drives open the dark slide and turn the wheels which advance the film.

If at any point we wish to swap out the roll of film we're currently shooting in favor of another type (let's say we're shooting black-and-white and we wish to switch to color, but the roll of black-and-white isn't yet finished) we simply rotate the film door opening lever on the bottom of the camera, which slots the dark slide back in place and allows us to remove the film magazine without exposing the loaded roll of film. We can then load and drop in another magazine and get right back to shooting.

The magazine system that the Adox 300 uses is in fact the very best of the systems that I've used in a 35mm camera. It's even more elegant than the film backs and magazines of some medium format film cameras, a format in which this sort of magazine technology is almost universal in its implementation.

But just because it works well, doesn't necessarily make it a compelling feature. Interchangeable film magazines are interesting, yes, from the perspective of a camera nerd shooting the Adox seventy years later. But the key feature of the Adox 300 is not (and was never) really as useful as Adox's engineers may have hoped. And there's the price. When new, the nicely built Adox 300 and its novel, highly-engineered film magazines was quite expensive.

Perhaps this combination of high cost and niche utility is why the Adox 300 sold poorly and was discontinued after just a few years, and why the planned Adox 500, a more advanced version of the 300 with interchangeable lenses, an improved viewfinder, and rangefinder focusing, never entered production.

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User Experience

In the hands, the Adox feels nice. It's larger than most similar cameras of its day, which can probably be attributed to the need to fit the interchangeable magazines into the camera. But despite the size, it doesn't weigh much more than comparably specced cameras. It fits in the hands nicely, and feels balanced with its compact, stubby lens.

All of the camera's exposure controls (shutter speed selector, aperture ring, and focus control) are located on rings around the lens barrel. Like many camera's of its era, the Adox 300 works with the Exposure Value (EV) control system. What this means is that the aperture and shutter speed rings are actually linked, and move in reciprocal increments.

Here's how it's supposed to work.

The photographer would take a meter reading to determine the appropriate shutter speed and aperture for the scene's light. We can then set our rings to those settings by pressing a button on the aperture control ring and setting the rings independently. After that, if we desire a different aperture for a certain depth-of-field, or a different shutter speed to capture motion or freeze our subject, we can change either setting and the reciprocal setting will change automatically to retain a proper exposure.

This system works well in situations in which the light doesn't change much. And when it does change, we can change our settings individually to fine tune our exposures.

The EV system controls work in conjunction with the camera's built-in selenium light meter. Point the camera at the scene to be photographed, press the meter activation switch on the upper left-side back of the camera, take a meter reading, and set our speed and aperture. This built-in meter is not linked to the camera's shutter speed or aperture, so it's there simply to give us an idea of the available light. (Incidentally, my camera's light meter does not work - a common occurrence with selenium meters.)

The viewfinder is essentially two pieces of glass, with nothing else to offer. There's no information display, no meter reading, it doesn't even have frame lines to show the camera's image area. It quite literally is simply two pieces of glass. The rearmost piece of glass is quite small, too, and framed in metal. It scratched my glasses quite badly - very annoying.

There's a cold shoe on the top of the camera to mount a flash, which I never used. A shutter release cable socket sits in the middle of the nicely knurled shutter release button, which I never used. And there's a self-timer mounted in the shutter of the camera, which I never used.

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Focusing is handled by scale focusing. The ring around the lens can be spun easily to the distance markings (mine are listed in meters, while other Adox 300s have distances listed in feet). Since there are no focusing aids, such as rangefinder or focusing screens, we need to be good at estimating distances. I was able to do this pretty well, though that could change entirely if I'm shooting after a bad night's sleep.

The lens is nice, typical of Schneider-Kreuznach lenses of its era. It's sharp and resolves details very well, especially in the center of the frame, while leaving some classical softness to creep around the edges. Close-focused images actually present some interesting bokeh when shooting wide open, and when the lens is stopped down to f/8 in bright light, the image is sharp from edge to edge.

One important note for anyone seeking to actually use this camera, and a lesson I learned after shooting my first roll, is that when the roll of film is finished, often we will be midway through actuating the advance lever. This happens with cameras all the time - we reach the end of the roll and the shutter advance lever locks halfway through its cycle. Usually, this is no big deal. We simply press the rewind button on the camera and rewind the film, or the camera does it automatically for us if we're using a camera with automatic film advance and rewind.

With the Adox 300, however, things are more complicated.

Because of the camera's interchangeable magazines, when the film advance lever locks halfway through its cycle, the camera is entirely locked up. We can't remove the magazine to rewind the film. The solution is a tiny lever on the back of the camera. We push this lever up, and we're able to complete the camera's cocking cycle. After that, we can open the camera and remove the magazine.

It's a small detail, but it had me totally stumped for a few minutes when I'd finished my first roll. Suddenly the Adox 300 was no longer a camera. It was a mechanical puzzle box from some ancient, inscrutable lost civilization. Luckily, I had the owner's manual in my office.

Final Thoughts

My time with the Adox 300 has been enjoyable and surprising. But the feeling that I'm left with is one bordering on disappointment. I wish that the camera had been more successful so that Adox had continued with their line of cameras. I wish that they'd made the Adox 500, because an Adox 300 with rangefinder focusing and interchangeable lenses would have been a legendary camera. Alas, this was not to be.

As it is, the Adox 300 is a weird and interesting camera. It offers old-world build quality with a splash of uniqueness brought through its implementation of a rare and novel feature. It's a rare camera, ideal for collectors and people who love to own and shoot the most unusual machines. On top of that, it's also a good image-maker. Its lens is sharp and offers classic, imperfect rendering, and the camera's size, weight, and design land it happily in the hands.

All told, the Adox 300 is a beautiful, interesting camera. Simple as that.

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Historical Hovercrafts Through a Rolleicord Lens – Guest Post by Jacob Downey

There are some things which manage to be perfectly symbolic. The Chrysler building perfectly symbolizes the art deco movement, Rolls Royce perfectly symbolizes luxury, Facebook perfectly symbolizes the mega-corporation of the digital age. A few weeks ago in Lee-On-Solent I may have found the perfect symbol of Britain: the SR.N4 Hovercraft, specifically The Princess Anne.

Part of a class built in the mid-sixties, these giant hovercraft used to ferry 427 people and 60 cars at a time across the English channel at 75 miles per hour. The fastest and most glamorous way to cross the channel, her sister-craft even made a cameo in a James Bond film. The hovercraft carried on plying this trade until changes to tax laws and the opening of the channel tunnel finally put an end to the service in the year 2000.

The Princess Anne currently resides at the world's only hovercraft museum, a slightly run down collection of hangers on a former naval base just across the water from where the first ever hovercraft flight took place. Like so many small museums, there's a real charm to the place. The museum volunteers are wonderful, I end up speaking to about half of them, the Rolleicord hanging around my neck being a good conversation starter. One delightful man even asks if there's anywhere not on the visitors’ route that I want to see, he'll quite happily take me there (if it's structurally sound enough).

This structurally sound qualifier is more restrictive than one might first imagine. The Princess Anne is in a bit of a state these days. Out of commission since 2000 she's looked better. Built out of aluminium and balsa wood she doesn't have the inherent heft that might hold a traditional ship together.

Inside feels like it hasn't been touched since her last channel crossing, teetering on the edge between luxury and dereliction. A menu proudly advertising in flight drinks sits on the bar, an intercom telephone sits just off the hook as if not quite replaced properly in the haste of a fast Dover-Calais turnaround.

But she leaks badly, the inside smells of damp and the smell of kerosene lingers. Labels peel on ancient bottles in the tiny bar, in a few places the carpets have started to rot. A volunteer told me that every time they go up to patch the leaking roof someone drops a spanner and it goes right through. Puddles form in her cracked rubber skirts. Her once eye-catching red white and blue livery is faded and peeling, neglect and the south coast sun taking their toll.

Not so long ago the museum saw her sister-craft, The Princess Margret, scrapped. The two had sat opposite one another on the hardstanding at Lee-on-Solent for over a decade. Six years ago, a grey haired volunteer tells me, he witnessed the macabre spectacle of her being scrapped mere yards away, watched over by her surviving sister. All that hope and optimism, pride and memories gone. Ripped apart and turned into razor blades.

I speak to more volunteers, all incredibly friendly, their chattiness probably increased by the fact that I am one of a small handful of visitors to the windswept museum. Some lament the loss of the Princess Margaret, the scrapping still evidently a recent wound. Some quietly opine as to how long they can preserve the Princess Anne; these craft were never designed to last this long after all. Some talk to me enthusiastically about restoration work. I hope they can preserve this relic, forged in the white heat of the '60s technological revolution, though a bucket catching occasional drips of water on the vast vehicle deck suggests that preservation won't be without challenges.

This sentimentality on my part isn't really for an era I wasn't even alive to see, at least I don't think it is. It's more lamenting a mindset. Want to make your country seem impressive? Build a hovercraft, build a Concorde, put a man on the moon.

I'm not totally naive, I know that all three of the feats that I just referenced had their roots in military schemes and weren't done purely out of a sense of innocent national pride. Somehow I still prefer the idea of national pride and patriotism being tied to something tangible, though. Be proud of your country is a sentiment often peddled, but so often it boils down to little more than be proud of YOUR country simply because it's YOURS. No real reason seems to be offered as to why.

I'm not saying that I want a hovercraft to solve every political woe, I'd sooner take a properly funded healthcare system, a fair and equitable justice system, frankly, even a publicly funded library would be a good start. But along with the hovercraft these are all tangible reasons to be proud of a nation, rather than just a vague sense of historical ownership.

I'm aware this article has been a bit light on photographic detail. There's been no praising of the Rolleicord's Xenar lens, no comment on its awkward EV interlock. I've even resisted the temptation to lament the discontinuation of Fuji Pro 400H, or to note that I prefer its rendering of this sort of colour palette over Portra's.

I've not even commented that I rarely photograph in colour, or that the indispensable Rolleinar 2 helped me get some shots that I'd otherwise have been unable to. I haven't even mentioned that the reason these photos exist as they do is because of a problem with a repair on my Leica IIIc.

The truth is that I haven't mentioned those things because none of them are why I love photography as a hobby. I love photography as a hobby because sometimes it makes me stand on an abandoned naval base in the middle of winter looking at a 50-year-old hovercraft and muse on how palatable patriotism seems destined to shift into nationalist populism. How many other hobbies can do the same?

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Today’s Guest Post was submitted by…

Jacob Downey, a photographer who has previously been featured in our Single Shot Stories here. **
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The Ten Best Electronic 35mm SLR’s Ever Made

When I wrote our Ten Best Mechanical SLRs Ever Made article, I almost immediately knew I had to follow it with a Ten Best Electronic SLRs Ever Made article. This was followed by a hint of excitement, which was then tempered by a big helping of dread and anxiety. We are, after all, talking about the most popular, well-known, and most diverse segment of film cameras out there. Everybody’s going to have an opinion.

So before we get started, let’s establish some ground rules. The electronic 35mm SLR category encompasses any 35mm SLR whose exposure capabilities are aided by electronics. This can range from something like the humble, aperture-priority-only Nikon EM to the autofocus-equipped, armed-with-every-mode-ever Minolta A7. That’s as varied as it gets.

It is this category’s extraordinary variety that makes this list so difficult, yet so exciting to organize. I ended up having to ask myself some rather serious questions about cameras and list-making in general. What really, and I mean really , makes a camera (or anything) great? Is it their stat sheet and groundbreaking tech, or is it the beauty of their execution of existing tech? Is it their sales figures or their historical importance? Is it what the camera is objectively, or is it how that camera made you feel?

Each camera on this list revealed to me a different answer to every one of those questions. To other shooters, other cameras may hold different answers still. This isn’t an objectively perfect Top 10 list, but these are my and I’m sticking with them. Do check my answers you'll find links to reviews of each of these cameras in the paragraphs below each.

Let’s get into it.

Nikon F3

I should start this by saying that this list isn’t intended to be sequential. Every one of these cameras are about as good at helping you make images, are as interesting, and are as worthy of your love and attention as each other. But heaven help you if you thought that I wasn’t going to put the Nikon F3 first, even symbolically.

Sure, the F3 is hyped up by literally everybody (including myself). Sure, it’s not as capable as any pro-spec autofocus SLR. Sure, it’s nearly functionally similar to nearly any bare-bones electronic SLR. And yes, the LCD display sucks and the AE lock button sometimes aggravates my carpal tunnel. I know – it’s not perfect.

But look at it, just for a second. Look upon its Italian, Giorgetto Giugiaro-designed body, with its sharp, defined lines terminating in a soft curve accented by the now-iconic Nikon red stripe. Look into the viewfinder and enjoy brightness and eye-relief beyond compare. Marvel at the accuracy and utility of its uncommon 80/20 center-weighted meter, and watch in awe as it works in immaculate concert with its aperture-priority mode. And press the shutter button and listen to its crisp chirp, feel the smooth ratchet of its perfectly-engineered, ball-bearing mounted, self lubricating advance lever, and frame the next shot with joy and inspiration in your heart. It’s not perfect, but God, it’s close.

Now, I'm only being slightly facetious. The Nikon F3 really is a beautiful, historically important, and still-relevant machine that has occupied its lofty place in camera history from the day it was released in March 1980. It was Nikon’s last professional manual focus camera, and may still even be its greatest. It enjoyed an incredible twenty year production run from 1980-2000 and remains an incredible camera even in the 2020’s, owing to its sleek lines, spartan charm, and easy usability. I recommend it to those shooters who are loyal to 35mm, the SLR genre, and good design as a whole. Even after all the hype, the Nikon F3 is still one of the best there ever was.

[Get a Nikon F3 on eBay here]

Nikon FA

I know what you’re thinking. This is a top 10 list for all electronically-controlled SLR’s, and we’re giving Nikon two spots? Is that really what we’re doing?

Yes. That is, in fact, what we’re doing.

That’s because our next camera is Nikon’s most advanced manual focus camera ever, and a camera that is likely more influential than any in their entire roster – the Nikon FA, otherwise known as the Technocamera.

The FA makes this list for two reasons – its influence, and its still-astonishing usability. For one, the FA’s emphasis on technology over pure pro-spec performance should sound familiar – it is one of the familiar plays of the “advanced amateur” camera and one that carries on to this day. Sure, the Minolta X-series and Canon A-series did this first, but the FA is arguably the genre’s greatest exponent. It blew all those other electronic manual focus cameras out of the water with its pioneering technology, matrix metering, which was the first to utilize a computer to analyze a given scene to produce a meter reading. Any doubters to the FA’s influence need not look further than their own digital camera – matrix metering (or evaluative metering) is likely the default metering mode.

Perhaps the greatest attribute of the FA is that it utilized its incredibly complicated technology just to make everything easier for any level of shooter. Shooting an FA is simplicity in manual focus form – just focus, shoot, and you’ll get a perfect image. I recommend it highly for anybody looking for just one SLR body to grow with (provided, of course, that you find one that works).

[Get a Nikon FA on eBay here]

Olympus OM-4Ti

But that’s enough of looking at this list through Nikon multi-coated glasses. If you’re tired of hearing me squawk about how cool Nikon is, how about this – there’s a camera that might be better than the both the FA and the F3, and it’s not a Nikon. It’s the Olympus OM4-Ti.

Those who remember 1983’s Olympus OM4 remember a camera that may have been the most advanced, and smallest, professional-level SLR of its day. It crammed all of Olympus’ most advanced technologies into a shock and weather-resistant chassis the size of a Leica-M camera. It featured the world’s first multi-spot meter (which could take a spot reading from eight different segments of the frame), as well as their famous off-the-film-plane style of metering, which ensured an incredible amount of metering accuracy. Whereas the FA took care of everything for the user, the OM4 gave the user ultimate control over the exposure, and to a degree arguably finer than even the Nikon F3. And similar to the F3, the OM-4 enjoyed an incredibly long production life spanning from 1987 to 2002 in its now-famous Ti form.

If we’re talking absolute endgame cameras, never mind the greatest electronic 35mm SLR’s of all time, the Olympus OM-4 ranks near the top. This is the camera that best represents Olympus’ philosophy of quality, compact design, and technological ingenuity. I heartily recommend the OM4-Ti, the titanium-clad version of this camera, as they are the easiest to find in stellar condition.

[Get an Olympus OM4 on eBay here]

Minolta XD (XD-7, XD-11)

Even though this is a list of The Greatest, I despise the GOAT (greatest of all time) debate, in any form. If I have to hear Stephen A. Smith get into a shouting match with some other weird talking head about lEbRoN jAmEs I may just lose it. Aside from the tendency of GOAT arguments to devolve into obnoxious rants made to harvest hate clicks and provoke engagement-at-all-costs, it’s that the argument often fails to take into account the limitations of the knowledge and the changing values of the time of any athlete, artist, or whoever. Bjorn Borg never had the chance to play with a graphite tennis racquet, polyester strings, and years of sports science research; Rafa Nadal never had to play with a wooden racquet, natural gut strings, and in a time where smoke breaks were a thing.

Considering this, a camera like the Minolta XD becomes even more remarkable in hindsight. Released in the olden days of 1977, the Minolta XD became the very first multimode SLR at a time when such things did not exist. I can’t stress that enough – nobody had even seen a camera that could perform both aperture and shutter priority duties with a flick of a switch until this camera came along. Just like we wouldn’t have had Kobe Bryant or LeBron James without Michael Jordan, we wouldn’t have the FA, the OM4-Ti, the Canon A-1, or practically any multi-mode camera in history without the Minolta XD. It’s that important.

Now before anybody hurls a tomato at me and accuses me of picking cameras purely on historical relevance, I will remind you that this is the Minolta freakin’ XD we’re talking about. This is, to this day, one of the finest shooting manual focus SLR’s ever made. It was perhaps the best child of the union between Minolta and Leitz (yes, that Leitz), and features the best combination of the former’s technological wizardry and the latter’s elegance in design. While not as well equipped as the later Nikon FA or Olympus OM4-Ti, the Minolta XD still holds a distinct edge in shooting layout and build quality. Its Acute Matte focusing screen is the same found in Hasselblad cameras, its controls are snappy and smooth, and if obtained in the black trim, you get a black chrome Leitz-approved finish. It is also, in my opinion, the most elegantly designed of the compact manual focus SLRs on this list. It may not be the greatest of all time, but its greatness transcends that tired moniker.

[Get a Minolta XD on eBay here]

Canon A-1

While the Minolta XD came sprinting out of the gates first in the photographic technological arms race of the late 70’s, there was a rival following close behind. It was clad in all black enamel, cut a Darth Vader-esque figure, and packed one key technology that the XD was too timid to give an official name to - programmed auto-exposure. It’s Canon’s finest creation from their manual focus FD mount days, the Canon A-1.

More than most other cameras of its ilk, the Canon A-1 is emblematic of the hyper-technological advanced amateur segment. It’s covered in the technology of the day, most importantly becoming the first camera to feature shutter priority, aperture priority, manual override, AND programmed autoexposure in one body (note: the rival Minolta XD does technically have a program mode, but it’s not as explicitly stated as it is on the A-1). The feature list goes on longer than Too $hort's music career, and includes an exposure lock, an exposure compensation dial, an extended range of manually selectable shutter speeds from 2 to 30 seconds, a viewfinder shutter, double exposure capability, and discrete dials for each shooting mode. Yes, this may contribute to a cluttered control interface, but it’s a small price to pay when the entire photographic world is just a switch away.

I can practically hear the furious keystrokes of Canon AE-1 owners in the comment section. Why the A-1 over the obviously more important AE-1? It’s simple – it’s a better camera. The A-1 does everything the AE-1 and AE-1 Program can do. It also does more, does it better, and most importantly, does it cheaper.

[Get a Canon A1 on eBay here]

Canon AE-1

But even all that said, I can’t in good conscience leave the Canon AE-1 out. It’s the VW Bug, the Coca-Cola, the Fender Stratocaster of electronic SLR’s. It’s also the reason the consumer-focused electronic SLR segment even exists.

Just like we did with the Minolta XD, we have to consider what the photographic world was like before the AE-1. Before it, the amateur SLR market consisted of bulky bare bones cameras that were often simplified versions of their professional counterparts. Although these were often very good cameras in their own right, they painted the entire SLR format as something reserved only for professionals, while amateurs were largely better off with fixed lens rangefinders or viewfinder cameras.

The introduction of the automated Canon AE-1 in 1976 completely shattered the popular preconception of what an SLR should be. It was small, lightweight, and due to its groundbreaking microprocessor-powered shutter priority mode, incredibly easy to shoot – in short, the opposite of what an SLR was. It sold like no other SLR before it, eventually selling 5.7 million units worldwide. The AE-1 proved so popular that it opened up an entirely new consumer-focused amateur SLR segment in the market, and paved the way for every automated SLR to come afterwards.

Though I will always pick the more fully featured A-1 over the AE-1 and the later AE-1 Program from a shooter’s perspective (and have actually spoken ill of said cameras in an infamous article), I will admit there is a certain charm to shooting an AE-1. It’s practically a rite of passage as a beginner; millions of shooters experienced SLR photography for the first time through its viewfinder. It isn’t the best camera on this list, but it’s certainly the most important, and is still a fine shooter for any class of photographer.

[Get a Canon AE1 on eBay here]

Pentax LX

James once called the Pentax LX “The Best Professional 35mm Camera.” I remember holding my Nikon F3 kind of like how this lady holds Kevin Hart. I later realized I didn’t do this out of skepticism; I did it because it was probably true.

Fitting for the Pentax design ethos, the Pentax LX is maybe the most unassuming of the pro-spec electronic SLRs of the day (this is, of course, the same company that gave us the Wonder Bread of cameras, the Pentax K1000). But similarly befitting of Pentax, it is the near flawless execution of the LX’s build and the thoughtfulness of its design that gives it its power.

In abbreviated terms (for the long form review, click here) the Pentax LX is what you’d get if you shrunk a Nikon F3, a Canon F-1 New, or a Minolta XK down to the size of an Olympus OM-series camera while somehow sacrificing none of those camera’s features. It features nine interchangeable viewfinders, ten different focusing screens, motor drive capabilities, and a TTL OTF metering system which controls a stellar aperture priority mode. While managing this, the LX still managed to surpass its competitors by adding a mechanical backup across five different shutter speeds, and by being uncommonly well sealed against the elements, making it shock and water resistant to a degree those other cameras would envy. No other pro-spec SLR, manual focus or autofocus, can lay claim to this kind of a spec sheet.

Best of all, it’s an incredibly user-friendly camera. Its small size and thoughtful control layout makes it perhaps the most ergonomically friendly camera to shoot on this list. And if you can find one, prepare to enjoy the best Pentax SLR body ever made.

[Get a Pentax LX on eBay here]

Leica R5

A few months ago, the Casual Photophile writers’ chat had a small debate about what their subjective perfect camera would be. I chimed in with, “Black Minolta XD with an exposure lock would be pretty near-perfect” James quickly reminded me that that camera already exists, only that it isn’t a Minolta XD. It’s the Leica R5.

The Leica R5 is often reductively considered a German Minolta XD on the juice, which is true to some degree. The R5 itself is based on the R4, Leica’s version of the Minolta XD, which was itself born out of a particularly interesting collaboration between Leica and Minolta, which you can read about here. The R4 took the XD and added an incredible metering system which, in aperture priority mode, can utilize both spot and center weighted metering, and officially added both an AE lock (in selective spot metering mode) and a program mode (!!). The R5 expounded on this by adding a wider shutter speed range (15s - 1/2000th of a second), TTL flash metering, and an even fancier program mode with a shift capability.\

Where the XD excelled in innovation and layout, the R5 excels in sheer build quality, shooting experience, and lens roster, and that’s saying something considering what I just wrote about the XD a few paragraphs before this. The R5 equipped with a 50mm Summicron is pure luxury in electronic 35mm SLR form, with every action streamlined, smooth, and of the very highest quality. You can’t expect less from a company like Leica.

[Get a Leica R5 on eBay here]

Contax RTS III

The camera which takes the penultimate spot on this list is, admittedly, my pick of the bunch. As much as I love my old faithful Nikon F3 and all of my Nikkor lenses, I have to give it up for the last great SLR of the manual focus age (barring the Nikon FM3a), the Contax RTS III.

The Contax RTS III is the platonic ideal of the manual focus electronic 35mm SLR segment. Released in 1990, it was one of the last of its kind due the mass shift towards autofocus SLRs. With the manual focus SLR’s last gasp, Contax perfected the form, bestowing their already beautiful RTS series of cameras with every piece of tech they could muster. The camera featured an incredible 32 - 1/8000th of a second shutter, an integrated motor drive that maxed out at 5 FPS, and a freakin’ vacuum film pressure plate for maximum film flatness (seriously, who does that??). Combine this with access to the entire roster of Zeiss C/Y mount lenses and it’s hard to think of a pound-for-pound more impressive SLR system.

Historically, the Contax RTS III can be seen as a swan song for the thirty odd years manual focus SLRs ruled the world. It combines the ease-of-use, flexibility, and raw capability of the later autofocus SLR’s with the elegant, concise control layout of old school manual focus cameras, and wraps it all up in the impeccable lines Contax is known for. For the manual focus faithful as well as Zeiss fanatics, it is the ultimate electronic SLR.

[Get a Contax RTS III on eBay here]

Canon EOS-1v

Seasoned readers of the site will likely have noticed our omission of autofocus 35mm SLR’s, a class of cameras objectively more capable than any on this list. This is intentional – I believe judging cameras purely on raw capability is just as shallow as judging athletes purely on final trophy count. Ichiro Suzuki, who maybe the greatest hitter to ever play baseball, never won a World Series and yet occupies a space among the legends. In the same way, I don’t think that cameras can simply be reduced to their picture-taking ability – there’s something more to them that we love.

With all that in mind, it might be surprising to pick the Canon EOS-1v as the representative for the roided-up autofocus SLR segment. It is not the statistical leader of the segment (that would be the Minolta A9), nor is it a personal favorite (that would be the Nikon F6). I do, however, think the EOS-1v is the epitome of the genre, has the best professional pedigree, and represents a culmination of technology in film photography as well as an important link to the digital future. The feature list is mind-boggling, so I’ll just list some of the greatest hits: 45-point autofocus, a shutter speed range from 30 seconds to 1/8000th of a second, 21-zone evaluative (matrix) metering, an 8.5% partial meter, 2.4% spot meter capable of multi-spot metering , and a centerweighted meter, and a 3 FPS motor drive, among other features. It was rugged and reliable, ergonomically near-perfect and distinctly modern in its design (it’s basically a 35mm Canon EOS-1D), and subsequently a favorite of professional photographers in the twilight of the film era.

The EOS-1v makes this list not only because of its capabilities, but because it is a camera that represents the link between the film and digital eras. The proof lies in two things – its design and its lens mount. The design of the EOS-1v foregrounded every modern Canon DSLR, and can be seen almost unchanged in cameras like the 5D Mk II and 1D. For my Nikonians out there, I’m sorry to say that history shows that Canon’s EF mount surpassed the F mount in the transition from film to digital. The EOS system became the de facto professional standard, with the “L” series of lenses becoming legendary in the modern era. Professionals who have already built up a formidable arsenal of EOS lenses can use Canon EOS-1v as a virtual 1:1 film version of Canon’s DSLR offerings, making it the most sensible choice for working professionals still interested in shooting 35mm. If it is pure performance you’re after, this is the camera to get.

[Get a Canon EOS 1v on eBay here]

Well, that’s the list. If you have another favorite mechanical SLR, let us know about it in the comments below.

You can find many classic SLR cameras in our shop, F Stop Cameras

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[ Some of the links in this article will direct users to our affiliates atB&H Photo, Amazon, and eBay. By purchasing anything using these links, Casual Photophile may receive a small commission at no additional charge to you. This helps Casual Photophile produce the content we produce. Many thanks for your support.]

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The Rolleiflex Old Standard – the First Rollei to Shoot 120 Film

From the moment I started diving deep into film, I dreamed of owning my own Rolleiflex. Some people want to be Henri Cartier-Bresson, others Vivien Maier. I fell firmly in the latter camp. My desert island camera is my Rolleiflex 2.8C with its buttery Xenotar lens. But after a couple of years, I experienced something similar to what John Phillips describes in the book The Classic Rollei (an indispensable reference for this article and for all Rolleiflex enthusiasts) as he became more familiar with a later model of a classic camera, “the aura of antiquity had mysteriously lifted and somehow transferred itself to older models in the same line.” Many of us who love cameras for their history as much as their function have also been drawn to that aura. I wanted to see the world through the same viewfinder that someone had peered into in the 1930s, when finding such a viewfinder in a camera that could be held in one hand was still something new.

Rollei's First 120 Film TLR, the Old Standard

Francke and Heideke were stereo camera manufacturers when they introduced their first twin lens reflex camera, which in design terms was essentially a stereo camera with one end and its taking lens sliced off (literally, in the case of the first prototype) and rotated ninety degrees. The first Rolleiflex was not the Old Standard, but an even older model introduced in 1929 that used 117 film. At that point, 120 film was only numbered for 6×9 frames, so it was impossible to use in a 6×6 camera dependent on a red window for frame spacing. The 117 format is the same width as 120 film, but it came on spools with a much narrower flange, and it’s been out of production for seventy years. The 117 film format’s obsolescence was already becoming apparent in the early ‘30s, and Francke and Heidecke soon introduced the original Rollei’s successor, the Old Standard.

The Old Standard was manufactured from 1932 to 1938. At the time it was merely called the Standard and was only retroactively called the Old Standard after the introduction of the New Standard, manufactured in small numbers from 1939 to 1941.

The Old Standard was the first Rolleiflex that could accept 120 film (which is still the standard medium format film of today), which fit 12 6×6 frames on a roll instead of six. Nothing had changed about the frame numbering on 120 film, but the Old Standard employed a mechanism for setting a counter after viewing the first frame in the red window and winding the following frames automatically. It was not as advanced as the Automat, introduced in 1937, which sensed the start of the roll when it was wound and required no red window at all, but it made 120 film possible to use in a TLR and changed the game for a number of professional photographers who could now easily shoot roll film in a compact, easy to focus camera.

What made the Rolleiflex so innovative was its combination of the combination of a reflex focusing mechanism and the compact size of a roll film camera. Cameras with reflex focusing were available, and there had even been twin lens cameras, but they were large and expensive. Cameras that used roll film were smaller and more affordable, but most of them were either box cameras that didn’t actually focus, or folding cameras with clunky viewfinders and scale focusing. The Rolleiflex integrated the ease of the reflex finder with the small size of 120 film in one portable, relatively affordable package.

Thus the Rolleiflex took off in popularity, and the small firm that had started out manufacturing stereo cameras grew to meet demand. Franke and Heidecke made 95,000 units of the (Old) Standard in six years, and they were adopted by Robert Doisneau, Robert Capa (who used an Old Standard in tandem with a Contax to shoot WWII), Roger Schall, Lee Miller, and other photographers who found the Rolleiflex well suited to press and street photography. Over the next few decades, the Rolleiflex was updated with features that made it even simpler to use, fitted with state-of-the-art multi-coated Zeiss and Schneider lenses, and copied by dozens of other manufacturers who rarely matched the Rollei’s build and image quality, but provided a similar experience to users who couldn’t afford or justify the expense of a Rolleiflex. It was the Old Standard that started it all, and within a few short years it became the iconic representative of twin lens cameras.

My Rolleiflex Old Standard and Variations

Many of these robust cameras still exist and are not terribly expensive. I came across one at KEH in “as-is” condition for a reasonable price, and as it turned out, “as-is” meant functional and cosmetically fairly nice; I suppose they just didn’t want to make any guarantees. This is not to say it’s perfect. There’s a small light leak in the corner of some frames. The viewfinder is difficult to open and close properly while also keeping the magnifier parallel to the ground glass, which is dim, especially in the corners. But the lenses are clean for their age, the shutter fires at more or less the speed it ought to, and the frame spacing is even. There aren’t a lot of other things from the ‘30s, certainly not many cameras, that work as well as this one does.

The Rolleiflex Old Standard came with three different lenses: the 620 model with a 75mm f/4.5 Tessar, the 621 with an f/3.8 lens, and the 622 with an f/3.5 lens. Mine is a 621. One of the first things I did was replace the mirror, as the silvering on these mirrors tends to have deteriorated after eight decades. The other reason for replacing the mirror is that the date of manufacture is inscribed by hand on the original. My Rolleiflex was born on May 9, 1934, seven weeks before the Night of the Long Knives. While we know that the events of the next eleven years ultimately brought about, among even greater tragedies, the bombing of Francke and Heideke’s plant in Braunschweig, I’ll never know what happened to the anonymous artisan who tucked my Rollei’s birth certificate on the underside of its mirror. It’s strange and sobering that of all the cameras that I own, the one with the most personal touch comes from such a dark time in history.

The Rolleiflex Old Standard as a Usable Camera Today

If you’re used to the later Rolleis or any full-featured TLR from the 1950s or later, you’ll find the Rolleiflex Old Standard is compact by comparison. It weighs about 800 grams and feels much smaller than my 2.8C. This is fortunate, because I haven’t yet figured out how to attach a strap, so I just try very hard not to drop it. Everything about the camera is small, including the lenses, which predate the bayonet filter mount system of later Rolleis. It takes 28.5 press-on filters and accessories. I found a correctly sized hood to prevent the worst of flare - because you will get flare - but it’s meant for another camera; the stock hoods are hard to find. There is a seller on eBay who makes molded rubber lens caps based on the original, so I also have one of those.

The Old Standard, like any other Rolleiflex, is simple enough to use. A lever on the bottom of the camera opens the body. Since this isn’t an Automat, you don’t have to remember to fit the film under the roller when you load. What you do need to do, after you wind the film onto the roll and close the camera, is open the hinged cover on the red window on the bottom of the camera and wind until you see the number 1. Then you press the little button on the right side of the camera to set the film counter, and when you wind the camera advances to the next frame automatically.

Focusing is the trickiest part of using the Old Standard for me, because of the dim glass and the finicky viewfinder flaps, which I need my fingernails to tweak open. The focusing knob is on the left side of the camera. There is a focusing scale around it that goes down to 1.7 meters, and it makes another full turn to get to minimum focus. If you want some idea of what depth of field you’ll have at a given aperture, there’s a scale for that when you open up the lid of the viewfinder. The focusing knob is small and knurled and a bit uncomfortable to turn, but mine still works smoothly enough. If you don’t need critical focus, you can use the sports finder to frame your image; fold down the rest of the viewfinder and center your pupil in the tiny mirror in the center, and your image will be framed in the large square. I confess I haven’t really tried this, but it’s a clever way to shoot at eye level and not reversed if you can pre-focus.

Shutter and aperture settings are controlled by levers on either side of the taking lens. (If you forgot your light meter but you can read German, you can use a handy exposure scale on the back of the camera.) The maximum shutter speed is 1/300 of a second, and as with other Rolleis it is inadvisable to set the shutter speed to the highest speed after cocking the shutter. Fortunately, cocking the shutter is still a separate action from winding the film, so you can advance the film before you’ve decided your shutter speed for the next exposure. The shutter lever is under the taking lens and you move it left to cock the shutter and right to fire. At this point it’s a good idea to wind the film unless you want to take a double exposure; there’s nothing else to prevent you from doing so. Take 12 pictures (or twelve and a half, if you take twelve and then wonder if the counter was really on twelve on that last frame - yes, it was), wind through, and you’re done.

Image Quality

So what about the images? If you’re looking for biting sharpness and contrast, you probably already know you want a postwar camera with a coated lens, but pictures from the Rolleiflex Old Standard do have a certain character all their own.

Sharp areas are sharp enough, if not clinically so, at least in the center of the frame, and out of focus areas have gentle and sometimes swirly bokeh. I haven’t shot a lot of portraits with it, but I think it would be especially good for flattering images of people who are patient enough to wait while you focus (not necessarily my children). The f/3.8 aperture is wide enough to provide shallow depth of field but narrow enough that I usually manage to hit focus in good light.

I don’t envision myself shooting with this camera as much as I do with my Rolleiflex 2.8C, which is worth the size and weight difference, but with a little refurbishing it would make a good daily carry or travel camera. I don’t have anything so compact with such good image quality. All it would need is a brighter focusing screen and a CLA to confirm shutter speeds and focus accuracy, and to plug up that light leak. One of the most wonderful things about Rolleis, especially the early ones that are relatively simple mechanically, is that they just work with occasional servicing, and sometimes even without it. For anyone who is mesmerized by the aura of antiquity but also enjoys a camera that is easy to use and produces beautiful images, there are few better cameras to seek than the Rolleiflex Old Standard.

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[ Some of the links in this article will direct users to our affiliates atB&H Photo, Amazon, and eBay. By purchasing anything using these links, Casual Photophile may receive a small commission at no additional charge to you. This helps Casual Photophile produce the content we produce. Many thanks for your support.]

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The Leica TL (I Trust You, Baby)

As my pinkie slips under the camera’s body and my other fingers desperately clutch at the cold, ridged bump referred to on most cameras as a grip (in this case I intentionally avoid referring to it as such), I get flashbacks. I’m reminded of the endless list of criteria I compiled years ago before deciding on my first proper digital camera. I won’t bore you with the details, but this much can be said- What I’m currently holding would not have stood a chance.It does look good though. Really good. And it does things to me no one has ever done before. It makes me feel special, yes, but more importantly it’s the only camera that makes me want to shoot in automatic exposure mode.

If you were to detach the lens and just walk around with the body in one hand, people would assume it’s a chunky iPhone. The construction from a single block of aluminum and the glass surface on the back expanding over the actual touchscreen make it just as much of a sleek accessory as it is a very capable camera. It is elegant and refined, but to me this beauty comes with a certain amount of metaphorical and literal pain. The Leica TL doesn’t have a viewfinder and it's really uncomfortable to hold.

It is about as small as most other APS-C cameras with an interchangeable lens mount and weights roughly the same as Sony’s a6 series bodies, but the extraordinary shape makes the TL much more awkward to hold. The front grip is smaller and there’s absolutely nothing to rest your palm on. Because the back screen is all touch-controlled and very responsive, there’s a high chance you end up entering and exiting the camera menu or changing the display info repeatedly when holding the camera only with your right hand. The designers at Leica definitely expect you to clutch onto the camera body with both hands as if you were holding the holy grail. If you do so, the Leica TL actually feels alright, but having your left index finger beneath the body to support it like you would with a Leica rangefinder makes little to no sense because the TL doesn’t have a viewfinder. Holding it like an M camera will fool you into thinking you can lift it up to your eye and look through the viewfinder (a thing which it doesn’t have) but I nevertheless tried countless times. This aluminum brick is more of a casual shooting device than a serious tool. Having to hold it like a serious tool therefore feels odd to me.

Once you've learned to not touch the screen when you don't intend to, you’ll learn to appreciate how big and bright it is. Thanks to the easy touch and focus functionality and the option to have the camera take an image as soon as you’ve set the focus point, the Leica TL is quick and discreet. It’s an innovative Leica offering lots of unusual features without compromising on its most striking quality: elegance. The pop-up flash is well hidden without being flimsy when extended, the strap lug system is ingenious, and so is the battery removal process which is identical to the one found on Hasselblad’s X1D series.

But while the hardware is well put together I have a serious issue with the software on this camera. I understand that hiding the camera settings makes the screen less cluttered, but why would you then show them to me when I half press the shutter button and am about to finalize my framing? This is annoying because the settings are displayed on a half-transparent black border along the top of the screen which covers up part of the image I’m about to make. The TL’s screen is very minimalist except when it really needs to be.

So is the Leica TL just looks? Honestly, yes. Because not only does the body look gorgeous – so do the photographs. The Leica TL has a CMOS sensor that produces beautiful JPEGs which I don’t have to retouch at all. It can also capture DNGs if you want a little more wiggle room, but only in combination with JPEGs. There’s no way of capturing only raw files, which I first thought would greatly annoy me. But then the TL put a spell on me. A spell that not only made me accept lousy six-and-a-half megabyte JPEGs but also kept me trusting the camera’s algorithm to the point where I didn’t even bother switching to manual mode, opting instead to keep it on full auto-pilot.

I don’t check for the SD card anymore either since the 32 gigabytes of internal memory are plenty to house all of my photographs from a day out. At the end of the day I just plug the camera into my computer via USB or send the files directly to my phone using the super intuitive FOTOS app. The TL is essentially my most expensive, most capable point-and-shoot.

An important requirement I usually have for point-and-shoots is a somewhat decent autofocus system. The TL does deliver in this regard. Having used Olympus’ OM-D cameras for many years before making the switch to Sony I’m well accustomed to the contrast detection autofocus system. It’s not the quickest and tends to hunt quite a bit before locking onto the subject, but when it finally does, it is accurate. That’s especially important considering the high quality glass Leica offers for its APS-C lineup. I only have the 23mm f2 lens as of now, but I am already considering the 18mm f2.8 having seen how good its slightly bigger and longer sibling performs. Of course, you can fully expect sharp images with any Leica lens, but it amazes me just how good these somewhat tiny files (at least by today’s standards) look coming straight out of camera. The TL makes a clear case for the irrelevance of file size.

I should also mention that there was a predecessor to the Leica TL called the Leica T. It came out a mere two years earlier, in 2014, and looking at the specs it seems to offer almost the same features, although the TL's autofocus is said to be improved over the original. Whether this is a massive upgrade, I can't say as I’ve never used the original T. I won’t attempt a full-on comparison. But I do want to mention it because all of the pros and cons discussed so far will apply for the both of them – and the same can even be said for the latest in the line, the current Leica TL2.

Considering all of the aspects mentioned, where does this leave us? How good is this camera and, more importantly, who is it for?

The Leica TL certainly intrigues with its design, but that's rarely enough to justify a buying decision. Though the prices of the T and TL have plummeted with the introduction of their respective successors, these cameras still aren’t exactly cheap (I paid 500 USD for the body only). Still, I’d consider the TL to be a solid option as a small everyday carry-around camera or even a backup camera for professionals. After all, the L-mount offers some great glass and many adapters to satisfy your lens-needs. Maybe, being less intimidating, this beauty might even be a solid street photography option. If you own a TL or any other APS-C Leica, let me know in the comments what you use it for and what have been your experiences!

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[ Some of the links in this article will direct users to our affiliates atB&H Photo, Amazon, and eBay. By purchasing anything using these links, Casual Photophile may receive a small commission at no additional charge to you. This helps Casual Photophile produce the content we produce. Many thanks for your support.]

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