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.

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.