The Graflex Graphic 35

One way or another a small hoard of old cameras has come into my posession. There's assorted box cameras, a few pseudo-TLRs, some musty old folders and one or two I'm not even sure how to classify. I lack the soul of a true collector though. While I like to look at old cameras on the display shelf as much as the next person I suppose, my thought has always been that any functioning photographic instrumentis are there to be used.

That's how it is in theory at least. To say to oneself "what an interesting old clunker, I really ought to do some shooting with that" is one thing, but to actually choose to devote the time and the film to doing so when it's easier still to grab the backpack of Hasselblad gear on the way out the door is quite another. There is one little gem of a camera that seems to have offered enough of the right combination of useability and retro charm to have made it into semi-regular use, a fun and rather unusual Graflex Graphic 35.

The name Graflex probably conjurs images of classic large format folders like the iconic Speed Graphic and along with it flash guns with reflectors like small satalite dishes and fedora's with the word "press" stuffed into the band. But in the 1950's they also produced a line of 35mm cameras as well as medium format TLR's. According to Camerapedia the Graphic 35 was produced between 1955 and 1958.

In essence the Graphic 35 is just a 35mm rangefinder like so many others, but as its appearance might suggest, it's a quirkly little thing to use. If you're looking for a traditional shutter button on top of the camera, there is none. Instead you have a shutter lever on the front of the camera. In the photo above, that's it on the left just above the "Graphic 35" name plate. You pull it away from the lens to trip the shutter in a motion that might feel natural with a good amount of practice. I have not yet had that much practice, it still feels awkward to me.

Equally strange is the focus mechanism. Focus is achieved not with the twist of a helicoid mechanism or even the turn of the focus wheel, but with a sort of see-saw lever system accomplished by depressing buttons located on either side of the lens. The button above the shutter lever (on the photographer's right) moves focus further out while the one on the opposite side brings it in to a minimum distance of 3ft. The rangefinder window is separate from the framing window and is split top and bottom. The mirror in my unit is a bit misaligned so the two images are slightly off kilter with respect to one another but not enough to throw things into too much doubt. I seem to nail the focus the vast majority of the time.

The lens itself is a 50mm f/3.5. It is stamped "G. Rodenstock" on the outer rim of the barrel. This portion easily screws off by the way to expose the shutter blades and, when these are opened, the aperture blades just beneath. I been able to find any reference to suggest the optical design but if I had to guess I'd say it's some variant of a Tessar. This would be about right for a camera of this age and price range, and as can be seen when the front elements are removed the rear of the first group is nicely concave as would be expected with a Tessar design. Just my speculation. As a side note my inspection of the front elements revealed that my copy is suffering from minor fungal growth. I will probably let this be and chalk up any effect on the optics to vintage character.

The Graphic 35 features a hot shoe. At least it appears to be hot. The trouble is that the shoe seems a bit shy of the standard width. I was unable to get any of my flash units to slide on, at least not without the use of more force than seemed wise. If it were that important I suppose a few minutes with a small file or a bit of sandpaper on the foot of a small cheap flash unit might get it to fit but this isn't something that seems worth while in my case.

Changing film is not too unlike most 35mm cameras you might be used to although rather than the standard hinged door the back/bottom cover of the camera comes right off to allow access. A lever switch on the bottom is used to unlock it for removal revealing a fairly standard left to right film transport system with sprocket wheel and built in take-up spool that shouldn't be any mystery to anyone familiar with loading just about any mainstream manual wind 35mm camera from more recent decades. Rather than counting up the frame counter dial can be set to the number of exposures on the roll you just loaded and it will count down to zero as you go through the roll. There is no rewind release button. Instead pulling up on the winding knob and giving it a small twist to keep it from falling back into working position will releast the film to be wound back into the cassette. 

The top front of the camera above the lens is the real control centre of the Graphic 35. It's unusual arrangement seems to bring thought back to things that might be a bit routine on cameras with a more standard layout of shutter speed dials and aperture rings. The focus distance is displayed via a rotating dial similar to a mechanical bathroom scale. Moving away from the body from there we come to the aperture slider. It's continuously adjustable from f/3.5 to 22 with colour coded zones for each stop. These zones get narrower at the smaller apertures and there is only a few millimetres separating f/16 from f/22 so a little care may be required. Next is the shutter cocking lever because, yes, there is no automatic cocking mechanism. This is the hardest part about using this camera because you don't expect to need to cock the shutter on a small handheld camera like this. 

Finally there's the speed dial for the between the lens Prontor shutter. Unlike the other dials that can be read and set from the top, setting the shutter speeds requires the photographer to view the camera face on. The dial itself is on a ring surrounding the lens in a manner will be familiar to large format photographers. Available shutter speeds are 1/300th, 1/100th, 1/50th, 1/25th, 1/10th, 1/5th, 1/2 and 1 second plus "B". Not surprisingly for a leaf shutter camera of the slower shutter speeds in my copy stick as you go down and at a full second it needs to be coaxed along to close at all. This isn't so bothersome for me as it might be on a larger format camera as the Graphic 35 is really made to be hand held and I will probably only ever use it set to one of the top three speeds where it's fine. 

The first few rolls I put through the camera were hand rolled from a bulk spool of Kodak Plus-X that expired since the late 70's. Interesting but needless to say not a good indicator of what the camera itself might be capable of. I had the notion that this could be a viable take-along, sort of a side-arm camera on photo treks for those more off the cuff shots I wouldn't want to drag a larger camera out for. Loaded up with a fresh roll of Kentmere 100 it was there for the grabbing when it was decided one brilliant one brilliant Saturday that I would lead a small party of bored teenagers on a fun little jaunt down the Niagara Glen.

Though it was the kind of day I spoke about in the previous episode, better suited for barbecue, I couldn't quite tear myself away from the idea of taking along the Hasselblad outfit. I didn't anticipate using in much, and on that count I was not wrong, but you never do know when you might regret not having it. The Graflex saw much more use on this day, in part because it was a little handier, and in part because using it didn't entail burning through a little more of my precious supply of endangered (though not yet extinct) Fuji Acros.

When I say it was a bit handier than the 'Blad, I do mean a very little bit handier. In fact if I wasn't so careful about keeping the larger camera coddled in a padded backpack I might have found it a somewhat easier to use. That's probably largely a matter of familiarity. The Graphic 35 takes some getting used to. Much of this is simply getting used to the notion of a compact 35mm rangefinder that needs to have the shutter cocked for every exposure. Time and again there was that first false start then ended with the realization that, oop, I forgot to do it again. As the day wore on I got a little better with this. If it were my only camera I'm sure this would become habit and I'd never need to think of it.

As it is though, while I'm sure my little Graphic 35 will see continued use as a fun little take-along or perhaps a functional novelty at gatherings, its practical limitations will likely mean it will never be much more than that. This means I'll probably just go on eternally forgetting to cock the shutter on the first go.

Wista-pon a Star

Shortly after the Wista arrived a camp-out with the extended family provided the perfect opportunity to try it out. I wondered if everyone would be worried that I just up and disappeared at 5am. It turns out no one had the slightest doubt about why I had left or what I was doing. 

It was probably a foregone conclusion that once I started getting my feet wet in the world of large format again it wouldn't be long before the floodgates opened. Just when it seemed the old 4x5 press camera that had been waiting patiently on a shelf for decades might finally be put back into regular service, in a flash it's been usurped. Though it remains a capable instrument, limitations such as it's inability to accommodate larger lenses and the nearly impossible to find lens boards it takes make it a poor foundation for a photographic system. An upgrade at some point in the future seemed inevitable and so when the time came to seek out some wide angle glass the fledgling 4x5 arsenal there didn't seem much sense in trying to make it work with the old camera.

Retro Chic

Weeks were spent researching the possibilities, combing the online auction sites and making the occasional near miss auction bids. At one point I came close to justifying the purchase of a new Chamonix F1 to myself, but blowing the whole budget on a camera with nothing left over for lenses rather defeated the purpose. It wasn't long after coming to my senses that I stumbled upon the used Wista 45SP in the APUG classifieds. It's not often I have to specify that a film camera I found for sale was used, but the 45SP is different. First introduced in 1972 the well heeled consumer can to this day purchase one new with all the innovations Wista has introduced over 40+ years (consisting entirely of replacing the date faux wood panels with black leatherette) for a mere five large, body only. Fortunately examples with a bit more experience can be had for significantly less. The one I found was adorned with the original wood grain vinyl - think 1975 station wagon - which I henceforth decree are retro chic. The seller was asking about the going rate for a similar camera on ebay but this one came with a few extras and I felt better buying from someone who had owned and used the camera.

Better yet, having spent well under half of what the Chamonix I had been eyeing up would have cost I still had a good chunk of budget to work with and it wasn't long before I found a very nice 75mm Nikkor SW to fit the bill. On a 4x5 camera a 75mm lens is roughly equivalent to a 21mm lens on a 35mm camera. That's about as wide as any lens I've ever owned and as wide a lens as I could see myself using regularly, at least with a standard aspect ratio. (Panoramic work would be another story.) I had been thinking of getting a 90mm lens after the 150 Symmar-S I already had, but the extra I mentioned that came with the Wista was a servicable, if not entirely practical, 90mm f/12.5 Wollensak. It's nearly impossible to focus with in anything short of the blazing mid-day sun, but it did mean I had the 90mm focal length covered, at least in a pinch, and the Nikkor seemed too good to pass up.

In the field, the Wista 45SP sporting a new (to me) 75mm f/4.5 Nikkor SW and, above, the result obtained.

Being sturdier and more capable than my old Busch press camera the Wista, not surprisingly, is a good deal more daunting a piece of cargo to deal with when heading out to the field. Significantly more compact than the monorail type 4x5's that are normally thought of as studio cameras, the Wista's ability to fold up into a neat little box the size of a lunch pail never the less doesn't make it any lighter. In contrast to the press camera's 135mm Wollensak lens, I have found that, reasonably sized as it is, the 150mm Symmar-S is still to large to remain on the camera when it is folded up forcing me to remove it and carry it separately. This is one reason the 4x5 kit, with a full set of film holders, light meter, filters etc. is rapidly growing to fill my large photo backpack, the one alternately used fot the Mamiya RB67 and its retinue of lenses and other attachments.

In the past few outings with it I have seen fit to also through the smaller backpack containing my Bronica outfit. I suppose time will tell what sort of balance gets struck between medium and large format but there are times and situations where I still need the Bronica's capabilities, be that rapid deployment, hand holdability or good old centre of gravity considerations. It's easy enough to throw both in the trunk and let the situation dictate which pack to grab when I get out there. I may find carrying the 4x5 just isn't worth it much of the time and that most of my work is still done with medium format. Then again my love of the big negative could just win out. Who knows, this time next year I could be fawning over a new 8x10 camera.

Ready to travel: Inside the trunk of my car with the Bronica kit (left) the
growing large format ensemble (right), and my trust old Manfrotto (lower).

My Bellami

Since before the age of the ubiquitous camera phone I have considered it ideal that there never be a time that a camera wasn't within easy reach. A rare opportunity can unexpectedly present itself even when running the most mundane errand. Long held as that notion may be however, finding the camera to serve in that role to my full satisfaction has eluded me for decades. Wile I won't deny the aforementioned camera phones these days can do a surprisingly good job for what they are, at least in full daylight, they are still an option of last resort for me. I can't help thinking I'd feel awfully let down if a once in a lifetime image did present itself to me and all I had for it was the image capture device that inspired the selfie stick. More to the point, I don't even own one really. My cost/benefit table for mobile phones still adds up on the side of not getting one (and only some of those costs are measured in dollars.) Finally, as future episodes will make clear, my workflow is moving further from anything that could easily accommodate the occasional digital image in the mix anyway.

If you've been following for a while you might remember the past episode Medium Format To Go where I discussed using my Iskra folding rangefinder camera as a possible way to have my long sought after take everywhere camera. Back then I had the lovely notion that as the camera tucked away easily into an ordinary backpack I could simply begin taking the backpack I already used to cart lunch and other essentials back and forth to work each day everywhere I went, much like carrying a purse only in a more socially acceptable form for a man in the particular time and place where I live. Socially acceptable to carry perhaps but still a bit strange a thing to carry along for no apparent reason when visiting friends and family, and on one occasion deemed too threatening a thing for a customer to carry with them in a supermarket although at least half the customers seemed to be carrying purses, some large enough to easily accommodate a medium sized pot roast without looking suspiciously full, gaping wide open in the toddler seat of their shopping carts. If I were the sort to make a scene I'm sure I would have. I was sorely tempted as it was. In the end though it was one more strike against the notion of being able to carry that camera everywhere. I do still carry it a lot of places, it's just not the always at hand camera I hoped it would be.

The obvious answer was to look for an ultra-compact 35mm camera. There are some capable models out there that give full size 24x36mm negatives in a package that can be downright pocketable. The problem is that most of the cameras that would have fit the bill are models that would be lumped into the point-and-shoot category. When I was in photo retail in the 80's and 90's and these cameras were in their heyday there were enough lacklustre performers in this category that the term point-and-shoot became shorthand for a camera I just couldn't get excited about. I had become, to put it bluntly, too much of a snob to consider such a camera.

Giving credit where do I have to say it was endless hours listening to The Film Photography Podcast that got me off my high horse, gradually instilling in me a respect for even the humblest of cameras. If people are out there making great images with plastic cameras then who am I to overlook a potentially great little point-and-shoot. And whatever I thought of the category as a whole, there are some great little point-and-shoots out there. Better still, some of the greatest are also some of the littlest. Part of the reason for this is that the smallest cameras don't have zoom lenses. It's hard enough to design a zoom to match the performance of a single focal length lens, but add to this the requirements of keeping everything compact as well as keeping costs reasonable and what you typically get is... meh.

There are, as I was vaguely aware, some truly compact cameras out there that have earned outstanding reputations that those more prone to exaggeration than I often characterize as cult status. Smallest of the bunch, the Minox 35 series certainly has its adorers, though a bit of research revealed they also have a reputation for electronics failures that can render the camera useless. Rollei also made tiny manual 35mm, but these could also be rather pricey. Highest on my list were a pair of Olympus models, the XA or the later Stylus Epic that took its place. Both are sought after models on the used market, bringing their value well above the yard sale prices nearly any other semi-vintage point-and-shoot sells for these days, but still within reason for someone willing to pay for a good little performer.

A shot from my iPad illustrating 1) my Chinon Bellami and 2) why

 I would chose to use it in favour of my iPad's built in camera.

It seemed the only question was whether, when this post eventually appeared, it would be about the older XA or the more recent Stylus Epic. The reason it isn't either is that a bit of frustration set in after a few of what I thought were generous online auction bids failed to take bring home the prize a bit of frustration began to set in. All the while I started doing a little research on a similar camera I found that could be had by the first person willing to pony up about a third of what my failed Olympus bids had been. It was a Chinon Bellami, similar in size to the Olympus's (Olympi?) that were eluding me it boasted a coated 4 elements in 3 groups lens (Tessar type) lens that the few reviewers I was able to find online for this cameras thought rather highly of. I knew Chinon as the maker of a nice little SLR similar to Pentax's K1000 (and also capable of accepting the same Pentax K-mount lenses) with similar quality despite the lower price the low-profile Chinons commanded on the market at the time. The little Bellami seemed to be a similar case. Well built with a metal chassis and a clever tucked away lens that springs open to use from behind its protective barn-doors cover it seemed a fair bet this little camera from the reputable but unheralded manufacturer could be a diamond in the rough.

Like the Olympus XA the Chinon Bellami was sold with a detachable dedicated flash of a type which, over the years often get separated from their companion camera, but with the camera I bought they were still a pair. For the most part I leave the flash at home to keep things small but it's easy to re-attach if I think I'll be doing any shooting indoors or into the dusk. It has a 35mm f/2.8 lens, matching the more sought after members of its class. Exposure is completely automated with a red-light warning in the viewfinder to let you know if low light levels make it necessary to select a shutter speed below 1/60th of a second.

The only real downside in my estimation is that, lacking the Olympus XA's true rangefinder or the Stylus Epic's autofocus it employs a system I affectionately refer to as guess-u-focus. One simply estimates the distance to the subject, dials this estimate into the distance scale on the lens and hopes depth of field exceeds margin of error. This isn't really a problem for landscape type shots as any distance beyond about 10 metres is effectively infinity. At portrait distances the need for accuracy increase as light levels drop off, demanding wider apertures. In early evening light with 400 speed film I find I can still be assured of reasonable results, though tack sharpness may be hit or miss.

So far my Bellami has hosted two rolls of HP5+ in as many weeks since it arrived, due mainly to my desire to put it through its paces. They aren't the sort of gallery destined once in a lifetime images I got this camera vowing never to miss. They're more the photo album destined type that might be a bit of a laugh now but as memories of last week don't mean much now. Last week will be way back when too quickly. I can imagine the famed image this camera may one day capture hanging on the wall, ignored, as yet unborn beloved flip trough pages squealing in laughter, hardly believing that's how their parents really looked at teenagers. Sometimes you just never know where the real treasures will be found.

A fairly close subject in diminishing light challenges one's ability to estimate lens to subject distance, a ncessary skill if one hopes to get good images with the Bellami. I'm sure I'll get more consistent with practice but here I just about nailed it.

Meet the Beast: Part IV

At long last it's time to wrap up this series with a few final thoughts on the RB67 and how it might or might not be a good fit for photographers in this day and age interested in a classic analog medium format system. As I hope I've made clear to this point these cameras have a lot going for them - they're ruggedly built and designed to perform to professional standards, but drastic changes in the way that the professionals these cameras were designed for work has flooded the market with used systems, often in top condition, priced lower than the most basic of entry level DSLRs. Why would anyone with a fondness for shooting film and an eye towards the increasingly popular medium format think of looking at anything else? Well, there may be a few reasons.

The price of the 17% gain in negative size you get with the Mamiya RB67 (left) is an added burden in terms of size and weight that is much higher percentage wise compared to a camera like the Bronica S2A on the right.

My closing comment in the last episode (the text portion, not in the video) let you in on the fact that I've been using a different camera lately. That's it on the right in the photo above, a classic Bronica S2 or S2A (there's been some debate about which of the two models this actually is, they're virtually identical). I put it there for comparison though, it's still all about the Mamiya. As you no doubt have guessed the comparison is all about size.

The Bronica is a fairly typical 6x6 cm square medium format SLR. Though it's a bit heavier, in terms of physical dimensions it's roughly the size of the more widely recognized Hasselblads such as the 500cm introduced at about the same time. To be fair the RB67 will produce somewhat larger 6x7 cm negatives, but the slight increase in negative size comes at the price of an anything but slight increase in equipment bulk. It's not just a weight increase either, the RB takes up more shelf space and requires a roomier camera bag when you bring it into the field.  The problem is only compounded when you add lenses and other accessories that are similarly scaled up compared to most other popular medium format gear.

Is all the extra bulk necessary to go from 6x6 to 6x7 with a medium format SLR? Another well known 6x7 format SLR is the Pentax 6x7 (later to become the Pentax 67). Though they shared the RB's format, these cameras had a very different design philosophy. Gone is the revolving back design, the integrated bellows focusing and the in-lens shutter, these cameras could only be described as scaled up 35mm SLRs. With a waist level finder and normal lens a Pentax 67 would come in at around 2kg, about half way between a similarly equipped Hasselblad and an RB67. The layout of these cameras however limited the usefulness of waist level viewing, so prism finders are the norm for the Pentax's, bringing the total weight just shy of our Mamiya. Add to this the fact that vertical shooting with the Pentax will require a heavier tripod and the RB is arguably the easier camera to carry and handle in the field.

Carrying an RB67 to get this image rather than a typical square format SLR involved a huge penalty in terms of weight sheer size, only to end up cropping the result down to the square dimensions a smaller camera would have given me.

Whether the larger negative is worth it or not is of course a personal question, one that I had to answer for myself. There are times that for particular images I've really appreciated it. At least as frequently however I end up cropping an image square, completely negating any advantage carrying all that extra bulk gave me, not to mention the extra bit of wasted film that gives me 10 rather than 12 exposures per roll. The appearance of a new square format camera in my collection is a good clue to the direction I've been leaning as of late.

That said it was actually one of the RB67s other shortcomings, a seemingly minor thing, that got me to thinking about moving to a square format system. Back in part II of the series I discussed the normal/mirror up switch on the lens and how leaving it in the wrong position can leave a photographer firing away with nothing to indicate the shutter wasn't opening until the blank film emerged from the processing tank. This was not a problem so long as I stuck to my usual "slow photography" M.O. of shooting tripod mounted, locking the mirror and using a cable release. For reasons I'll save for a future episode I've been thinking of expanding my approach in such a way that, given my predisposition for absent minded oversight, would inevitably find me staring at clear pieces of film where anxiously anticipated images should be. And of course there's also the sheer size of the RB, did I mention the size?

While in my experience the range of Mamiya Sekor lenses available for the RB67 (Sekor is Mamiya's house optical brand) are entirely up to professional standards optically, if you make the usual assumption that bigger lenses are faster lenses you may be disappointed. Normal lens for most medium format SLRs typically have an f/2.8 maximum aperture and it's not unusual for there to be a number of equally fast lenses in the range. Though lenses in the RB range are larger than those for rival systems in about the same proportion as all the other components, the fastest lens anywhere in the RB67 system has an f/3.5 maximum aperture, and no lens outside the "normal" range is any faster than f/4.5. This isn't something I consider a real disadvantage when in slow photography mode (though paying a penalty in both size and speed doesn't necessarily sit well) but it does start coming into play when I start envision radical concepts like purposely leaving the tripod in the car.

Though the Mamiya RB67 was always considered a camera for the professional photo studio this is by no means an indication that it's not up for use outside the controlled indoor environment. In fact it's quite the opposite. Their failure resistant all mechanical construction mean these cameras are anything but delicate. As so many of them outlasted their usefulness as the computer age brought more speed to the business of photography than a camera like the RB could keep up with it's no surprise that so many of them have found their way into the kit bags of photographers looking to bring them further afield. Doing so requires a willingness to accept the limitations that once made photographers look at the RB as cameras of the controlled environment, their size, their weight and the methodical approach using one demanded.

Those limitations are still present, but they're not insurmountable. After all, photographers have been carrying much heavier and slow to use large format cameras into some of the least accessible locations in the world for over 150 years. With a good carrying system and a strong back (or failing that a good chiropractor on speed dial) these cameras will put up with almost any environment a photographer hearty enough to haul it that far is likely to tolerate. Once there a willingness to take the time the RB67 demands can result in images that make it all worth while and more.

Meet the Beast: Part III

At last the thing is done. Even with the intermezzo post I'm coming in half a week late. It's not the first time I've made an instructional video (I had a small series of beginner level chess videos going a few years back), but as much as I should have really learned by now when I'm planning one of these things it seems I still lack any sense of what a slog I'm getting myself into. On top of that I decided that since my iMovie skills had gathered a few years worth of rust it was a good time to give some other video editing software a go. Not such a great idea as it turned out. The editing process didn't really get rolling until I finally gave up and started over with iMovie.

All this isn't to say I may not try a video episode again but it's certainly not something I'm going to raise any advanced expectations for. If I do try it again it'll just appear here one day unannounced.

As I mentioned before there were other things going on in my photographic world at the same time which I'll talk about next time in the final installment of this series. I might as well make my little confession now though... I've been seeing another camera.

Meet the Beast: Part II

In this second installment of Meet the Beast we're going to have a quick tour of the Mamiya RB67. For serious photographers who like to work with film there's a treasure trove of professional quality medium format equipment on the used market these days at prices that would have seemed like a miracle in the pre-digital age, and of those the Mamiya RB67 represents one of the best values in terms of price and capability.

Early results from not long after I started using the RB67. No coincidence, this was also right about the time my DSLRs became permanently relegated to utility image duty (mostly involving shots of my film cameras.)

The original model, the RB67 Professional was introduced in 1970 and updated versions were released in 1974 with the Pro S model, and finally in 1990 with the Pro SD model which was available new into the early 2000's. There's actually very little difference between them considering 30 plus years the RB was on the market, so if you know how to use one version you won't have any problems with any of the others.

As a medium format camera the RB67 normally uses the same 120 roll film popular in everything these days from Holga to Hasselblad. As the name suggests the RB67 is designed around the 6x7cm format, which means on a roll of 120 film you'll get 10 exposures. The rectangular format means there's almost no cropping required when making prints on standard size papers like 8x10 or 11x14 compared to the square format you get with many similar medium format SLRs such as the Hasselblad, virtually all Twin Lens Reflex cameras, and most of the “toy” cameras that are so popular these days.

The RB67 is a modular system. Six separate components have to come together to create a camera that's ready to use – the camera body, lens, focusing screen, finder, revolving adapter and film back.

The RB67 broken down into its individual components. Clockwise from the top left are the revolving back adapter, camera body, lens, waist level finder and 120 film back. The focus screen is also interchangeable but has been left in place here.

If we start with just the camera body we find there aren't many controls here. From the photographer's position behind the camera we see there's a large lever on the right that might be tempting to think of as a winding lever, but it's functions are limited to raising the reflex mirror and cocking the shutter. The film is wound using a separate lever that's part of the film back. We also have a large wheel on either side which are linked, and these are for focusing. The RB67 is designed to focus by means of bellows built right into the body. There's a release button up front to the lower right which is threaded for a cable release, and that's it for all the controls on the body. The only other detail of note is the accessory shoe, or cold shoe, on the left side.

Lets move on to the lens because this is where most of the controls are. The RB67 uses leaf shutters integral to the lens, so the lens barrel is where you'll find both the shutter and aperture settings. Shutter speeds typically run from 1/400^th to 1 second plus a T setting for long exposures. The design of the time exposure mode is one of my little peeves with the RB. When set to T shutter stays opened when it is released which is fine, but instead of the usual method of a second press of the release to end the exposure with the RB you either have to rotate the shutter speed ring off the T setting or start rotating the cocking lever, either of requires you to handle the camera while the shutter is still open, potentially ruining the exposure. Admittedly I can't say I've ever actually lost a shot this way, at least not yet, but why the designers couldn't simply incorporate a superior method that had already been standard leaf shutters for decades is beyond me.

Typical exposure control settings on an RB67 lens. The focus distance scale up front is just a reference for depth of field/hyperfocal distance. Working back from there is the shutter speed ring then the aperture ring. The black switch behind that is the X/M flash sync setting. The red markings near the body are for aligning the breach mount ring when mounting and removing the lens.

Since the shutter is built into the lens this is also where the flash sync terminal is, the standard p.c. socket. As with all leaf shutters flash sync works at all shutter speeds so you can use fill flash outdoors on even the brightest days. I don't know if there's an X/M sync switch on all RB lenses but there is on all the ones I own. Another standard feature on RB lenses, one that's easy to miss, is a little leaver on the lower right that closes the aperture to the stop you have dialed in giving you a quick check on depth of field in the viewfinder.

And finally we come to this little receptacle. At the centre is a standard cable release socket but the collar switch that surrounds it probably needs some explanation. You'll find it can be set to one of two settings that may be labeled “Normal” and “Mirror” or simply “N” and “M”. Setting it to Normal mode, or N, disables the in-lens cable release socket and turns shutter release control over to the release button on the body. Pressing the button or squeezing the cable release attached to it activates the usual exposure sequence, lifting the release mirror, closing the aperture and firing the shutter. In Mirror Up mode, or M, the button on the body just raises the mirror, at which point the shutter can only be fired with a cable release attached to the socket in the lens barrel. This nicely provides photographers with the functional equivalent of a mirror-up lever, but for the unwary there's a hidden trap, and yes I speak from experience here. Being the sort of photographer who normally operates from a tripod and shoots non-moving subjects, normal mode for me is anything but. The lenses are used in mirror mode virtually all the time and I just leave them there. Should I decide to go hand-held or simply don't want the shutter to fire immediately when , there's absolutely nothing to indicate anything is wrong should I forget to turn the switch to normal. I once blew the better part of a roll happily firing away, oblivious to the fact nowhere in that satisfying clunk of the mirror releasing was there a soft click of the shutter. It's the kind of mistake that, in theory, you're only supposed to make once, so lets hope those theorists know their stuff.

The unusual Normal/Mirror Up selector found on the barrel of RB67 lenses. Even experienced photographers will need to acquaint themselves with this peculiar switch before using the RB67 for the first time.

Moving to the other end of the camera, like many medium format SLR's the RB67 uses interchangeable film backs that give photographers two important advantage. First an foremost owning more than one back gives you the ability to switch mid-roll from one film types mid-roll simply by loading each back with a different emulsion. Loading a roll of colour film, therefore, doesn't commit you to finishing the roll before being able to shoot black and white. Second, special purpose backs can be used. The RB67 system included backs for shooting 645 and 6x8cm formats, and two backs that accepted different film formats, 220 and 70mm. While 70mm backs are a rarity, 220 backs were almost as common as the standard 120 version so a word of caution may be in order here. There aren't many 220 films still available, in fact to my knowledge Kodak Portra is the only thing available. If you're in the market for an RB67 it can be easy to overlook the fact that the one you found only comes with a 220 back. On the other hand Portra is a fine film and you can probably find some bargains on 220 backs.

The 120 film back removed. Note that the back has its own winding lever to advance the film, a function the lever on the body does not perform. Backs for 220 and 70mm film are also available as well as 645 and 6x8 format with 120 film.

One final advantage that may be easy to overlook – about half of the things that are likely to fail on a camera like this are in the film transport system. At today's prices just replacing a film back is likely to be much cheaper than having the whole camera repaired, and if you have spares after a failure like this you can just keep shooting.

As with any back that is removable there is a dark slide to keep the film from being exposed when it's not attached to the body. While you could pull this out and leave it as long as the back remains attached it's an easy thing to lose so it's good practice to leave it in until you're ready to make an exposure and return it as soon as you're done. There's no need to worry about accidentally leaving it in or out at the wrong time though as safety mechanisms are there to prevent you from removing the back if the dark slide isn't in, or tripping the shutter when it is in.

So far the RB67 back sounds pretty much like standard fare for a ;medium format SLR of this type, but now we're coming to this camera's defining feature, because the "RB" in RB67 stands for revolving back. Most cameras that shoot rectangular format negatives need to be turned on their side if you want to shoot verticals. That's not much of a problem with 35mm cameras but that presents more of a challenge with heavy medium format SLRs that are more likely to demand the use of a tripod. To shoot verticals most tripod heads require the camera to be dangled off to one side where the camera's extra weight can threaten to tip the whole tripod over. This is one reason so many medium format cameras adopt the square 6x6 format as there is no vertical or horizontal while you're shooting, This keeps the camera's centre of mass over top of the tripod, but making standard rectangular prints requires a good portion of the big gorgeous medium format negatives to be lost to cropping. The RB67 however allows the camera to remain on top of the tripod like a 6x6 camera at all times, making the switch between horizontal and vertical by rotating the back alone. This is done by means of the revolving back adapter, an attachment placed between the body an back. Normally this remains attached to the body as there is rarely a reason to remove it so some users may simply assume this is part of the body. It's and important thing to consider when purchasing an RB67 body alone as sellers might or might not include this component. Remember the back can't be attached to the body without one, even if you're willing to forego the revolving back feature.

At last we come to the finder which, it should be no surprise to learn is interchangeable and many types are available. Most common is the standard waist level finder that is similar just about every other WLF on other medium format cameras. There's no release button required to raise it, you simply pull up on top cover, under which you'll then find a small lever on the right that pops up the focus magnifier. While this is the most basic magnifier it's also the one I prefer, though anyone not accustomed to this type of viewer may find the left/right reversed viewfinder image difficult to adjust to. There is also an eye-level prism finder for those who prefer that fully corrects the view at the cost of some weight, but you're already dealing with 2.5 kg or more worth of camera already, so what's a little more? If you want to go a bit further there are also finders for the RB with metering and other special features. Of note finders are one of the few items made for the RB's sister model the Mamiya RZ67 that can be swapped between the two models. Since its the finder that carries the most visible camera model label it's not unusual to see an RB67 that has "Mamiya RZ67" emblazoned across the front.  

Well, that's all my heart can take this week. In future installments I'll be going into more detail with functional basics such as loading the film, changing lenses and so on, followed by a summary and a few final thoughts. I'm hoping to keep things on a semi-regular weekly schedule but apologies in advance if things are late as I'm expecting to integrate a bit more video as well as all the while I'm bringing a new element into my photographic world which... well, you'll see.