Carrigen ran his fingers over the small linen sack. He probed its contents through the cloth, tracing the bumps and ridges until his fingers found the cinched opening. The compulsion always hit him after a job: he wanted to take it out and look it over properly. He muttered to himself.

“I didn’t get a good look. It was too dim.”

His hand flinched away as if bitten. He did not want his curiosity to get the better of him. The tavern was not crowded, but that always made a regular man more conspicuous, to say nothing of a thief.

Over the sound of slamming mugs and blurted drunken laughter, Carrigen heard the bells of the distant cathedral. They were tolling the third watch—and nothing else, thankfully.

The client was late. They had agreed to meet to make the exchange an hour ago, but the strange crippled man had not yet appeared.

“Probably the rain.”

The unlikely client was a priest, if his clothing was to be believed. The plain brown robe of a familiar holy order had been visible beneath his hooded cloak, and the rosary beads around his neck had been well worn. All of which which made his request all the more strange. Carrigen had not done a job for a simple priest before. Bishops or cardinals? Sure. But never a priest. And never something from a church.

“Maybe he kicked the bucket. A wreck of a man.”

A lot of money was at stake. Enough to ensure that Carrigen complied with the client’s rather strict instructions that he only steal the item—almost worthless removed from its context—and forego taking anything else: silver candlesticks, chalices, coins from alms box, or the bejeweled golden box he had opened to remove the artifact.

“If he doesn’t show, I’m tossing that bone in the river going straight back to that church and taking that box.”

But he was curious. He fingered the drawstring of the bag.

“Why would that boney old fool want this fool old bone? Probably thinks it can heal him.”

There was a thud at the tavern door, Carrigen’s hands recoiled from the bag again. The door swung open slamming against the wall. A gust of wind rushed through the room bringing in the sounds and smells of the storm outside with it. A rain-soaked figure followed behind, oblivious to the glares of the men seated nearest the entrance whose backs were now spattered with cold water.

Carrigen slid the bag off the table and onto his lap, covering it with his left and palming the hilt of a concealed dagger with his right.

Cursing, a patron rose and slammed the door shut.

Carrigen’s client stumbled forward. One leg was stiff and unbending, the other was twisted and buckled suddenly at every step. It occurred to Carrigen that the priest must have been tall, before he became a hunched spindly scarecrow, that is. He was cloaked, and water soaked the hood that concealed his face and ran all the way down to drip from the silver toes of his crucifix. The hood had also been up on the occasion of their first meeting a few days prior. The priest left a slick of water across the uneven floor. With a wet sigh he slumped down into the seat opposite Carrigen.

The priest held out an open left hand, fingers gnarled with age. Carrigen shook his head.

“You first.”

With the same left hand, the old man retrieved a leather purse from inside his cloak. He jingled the coins inside. They sounded heavy, valuable. He tossed the bag on the table.

With the silent speed of a pickpocket, Carrigen swapped his own bag for the coins and secreted the money away, his other hand always on the knife.

The priest tried to speak, but only a slack slobbering sound came from beneath the cowl. He held up a finger in a request for patience. Working open the drawstring with his one good hand, he upended the bag and dumped out its contents.

The smooth jawbone clattered onto the table. He looked it over, apparently counting the teeth. The priest slowly lifted the bone into the dark shadow of his cowl. To the accompaniment of a sucking squelching sound, his hand pressed and shifted, meeting resistance before finally relaxing. He slid the hood back off his head to reveal an ancient weathered face; eyes kind, but cunning.

He rubbed at his jaw.

“It’s been a long time,” he rasped, then clearing his throat, “A job well done, my son.”

Carrigen’s own jaw hung open.

The priest pushed the cloak off his right shoulder to reveal his sleeve, rolled up and hanging heavy where his arm should have been. A knotted string kept the sleeve in place. He undid the knot. The sleeve uncoiled in a rush and at its opening a boneless hand slapped down onto the tabletop.

“If you are available, I have another job that requires your special touch.”

Harman Switch Azure is the latest color-switch film to enter the market and the third that I have tested out (read my reviews of Lomography’s Lomochrome Turquoise and Lomochrome Purple here). These film stocks are gimmicks, and everyone knows they’re gimmicks, but they can still be fun to play around with. It’s hard to imagine running a viable film production business with a customer base that will only buy your product once out of curiosity. I don’t know; maybe these film stocks really are popular. But they aren’t selling them in pro packs are they? Based on my experience with the other color shift film stocks, I was not expecting much out of Azure. I was right not to.

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The Nitty Gritty

Azure has a box speed of 125 ISO. That’s what I shot it at, and I think it’s right. The grain is prominent, but I was pleased with the exposure. Lomochrome Turquoise and Purple give you an ISO range, but perform better (in my opinion) given more light. I imagine the same could be done with Azure, but Harman cuts to the chase.

I shot in pretty bright conditions: full summer sunlight in the Northwest. In fact, I have only shot these color-shift films in bright sunlight and I am willing to give them the benefit of the doubt in dimmer conditions. So, take my experience with a grain of salt.

I used a Nikon F100 with either an 85mm f1.4 or a 50mm f1.8 lens.

First Impressions

Warm yellows and oranges shift cool blue. The blue sky shifts orange. Green shifts… to a different green. Most of the shifts are not unpleasant. I go back an forth on the value of them in terms of the viewer of the photograph: is it better to recognize that a color has been changed in a subversive way or to not know what the original colors were and just appreciate the image for what it is? I can’t decide.

Something that I’ve noticed about all of the three color-shift film stocks I’ve tried is that they have an odd way of isolating the various layers in a photograph (foreground, middle ground, background). They have a collage-like quality that must be the result of seeing unexpected colors next to each other in familiar scenes. It’s an interesting effect. I think it’s one of the better aspects of these film stocks and it is present in Azure as well.

The Blue Elephant in the Room

Frankly speaking, what this film does to human skin is an abomination. It makes people look like smurfs or colloidal silver junkies. Completely unnerving. It awakens feelings of revulsion in me that have been buried in the deep recesses of my brain originally developed to warn against some long forgotten prehistoric monster that hunted my ape ancestors at twilight. Saber tooth tigers were blue, right?

As one commenter said about this film stock:

The major nations are planning to meet to amend the Geneva Convention to classify use this film stock on people as a war crime.

Another who will remain nameless:

A camera loaded with Harman Azure should be treated like a gun: only point it at someone that you want to see dead.

My only consolation about this film stock is that I didn’t take any pictures of my kids with it. It would have been hard to look at them the same way had I done so. I would have been so traumatized that I could never have purchased another Harman product and potentially never have set foot in another Harmon’s grocery store just because the spelling is close enough. Fortunately, I dodged that bullet and may try them out again in the future.

Final Thoughts

There is a popular refrain that we film photographers need to support film producers who take a risk in developing and releasing new film stocks. I accept that logic to an extent. I’m glad they’re still innovating and I will give just about anything new a chance. But the manufacturers also need to understand that we don’t want to waste money on niche products that too often feel like fodder for YouTubers saving up for an XPan. No one is going to make his career as “The Harman Azure Guy”.

For me, there is an extremely limited set of use cases for this film stock. First and foremost is novelty: it’s fun to play around with something new. A distant second is as an artistic decision for abstract or architectural photography. I could see those kinds of photos hanging in a gallery, but the problem is that anyone who knows film would see it as a gimmick. Extreme color shifts seem better suited for digital photography and manipulation where experimentation can be done more freely.

The only color switch film that we’re missing is Aerochrome. Just bring back Aerochrome.

So, do I recommend Azure? No. Is that going to stop anyone from buying it? Also no. Will I—like a dog to his vomit—still go out and buy whatever new color shift film that’s being developed at Harman or Lomography? Probably.

I’ve always been an SLR guy, but I kept coming back to the idea that I needed something easier to carry around on a day to day basis. I felt like a good point and shoot would fit the bill. The models praised in YouTube videos and blog posts tended to be a bit pricey for cameras that wouldn’t match the sharpness or flexibility of an SLR platform, so I decided to trust the acquisition process to chance.

I started making a circuit of local thrift stores, but was somewhat surprised to find them regularly picked over with only the flimsiest point and shoot cameras available.

Eventually, I turned to the seedy underbelly of the used camera world: buying bulk lots of untested cameras from Japan. Most of what I got was junk, but there have been quite a few gems, including several of the point and shoot cameras that I had wanted to get my hands on. I’ve noticed that a lot of these cameras share some common features, enough that they deserve their own category: the little black camera.

This name is, of course, a play on the concept of the little black dress. As Wikipedia explains:

“The little black dress (LBD) is a black evening or cocktail dress, cut simply and often short. Fashion historians ascribe the origins of the little black dress to the 1920s designs of Coco Chanel. It is intended to be long-lasting, versatile, affordable, and widely accessible. Its ubiquity is such that it is often simply referred to as the “LBD”.”

In the way a little black dress holds a certain place of utility in a woman’s wardrobe, a little black camera (LBC) satisfies certain needs of a photographer.

What makes a good LBC? It is stylish and, of course, black. It’s not your main camera but it is useful for a range of common occasions. It’s easy to carry–small and light–and simple to use. In order to be both stylish and simple to use, it needs to have a relatively wide fixed lens, somewhere in the 35mm-40mm range. The results need to be good enough that you don’t feel like you’re wasting film or spoiling memories, so the lens also has to be good quality. The LBC must have been popular enough in its day, and in wide enough production, that you can still get one at a reasonable price; say, under $300, preferably closer to $100.

With all that laid out, a lot of cameras qualify as LBCs. Some meet all of the criteria, others fall a bit short here and there. Here are a few nominees that I have hands-on experience with.

Olympus Mju 1 (aka Stylus):

Released in 1991, the Olympus Mju ticks all the LBC boxes. It is the descendant of the noteworthy Olympus XA, which I still need to get my hands on. It is lightweight. It fits in a pants pocket, not just a coat. It has a fixed 35mm f/3.5 lens, autofocus, and autoexposure with shutter speeds ranging from 1/15 to 1/500 of a second. Those slower shutter speeds are great when shooting with the flash disabled, as I generally prefer. It accepts DX-coded film ranging from 50 to 3200 ISO and one of these days I think I’ll try one of those DX code hacks to shoot 400 at 1600.

The Mju was popular when it was released and it has become very popular among film shooters today. Consequently, it does bump up against the limit of affordability. But I think it’s worth it. I’ve shot with a few, and every time I get a new one in, I think that maybe I’ll hang onto it this time.

Konica EFJ (aka Pop):

The Konica EFJ is not a camera that I had previously sought out, but when one happened to arrive in a mixed shipment I was sold. The original 1982 model was black; however, after selling nearly 2 million of them, Konica released it in a rainbow of colors starting in 1985. It has manual film advance and rewind, a 36mm f/4 lens, and a built-in pop-up flash. It is limited in shutter speed–fixed at 1/125 of a second–and can be manually set to one of three ISO options: 100, 200, and 400. The fixed focus makes things simpler still.

It is fairly compact and light. It also is quiet, since there are no 40-year-old motors at work. There are a lot of these still in circulation and in good condition. The prices are reasonable.

Canon AF35ML (aka Super Sure Shot aka Autoboy Super):

I would also include the versions of this camera on either side, most commonly called the AF35M (Sure Shot) and the Autoboy 2 (New Sure Shot). But I like the look of the AF35ML the most, so I’ll talk about that one. The 40mm lens is fairly fast with a maximum aperture of f/1.9. It has very basic autofocus capabilities (hence the AF in the name) which can be a bit touchy at times and takes some patience to master. The film advances automatically thanks to a pretty noisy motor, so be prepared when trying to take stealthy shots. It is on the larger and heavier end of the cameras in this list, but still works in a large coat pocket. Film speed is set manually and maxes out at either 400 or 1000, depending on the model.

It must have been quite impressive when it was released in 1981, but pales a bit compared with other options today. However, prices are good. Just get one that is confirmed to work, because most that you might come across at a thrift store or untested online have something wrong with them.

Rollei XF35:

Perhaps not as well known as its older, smaller brother, the Rollei 35, the XF35 is still a gem. It is a rangefinder, but focusing its 40mm lens is just about the only thing you have to do on this camera. It uses a programmed exposure system that ranges from 1/650 of a second at f/16 to 1/30 of a second at f/2.3. It is very small and pocketable, for its type. It is also very quiet, and I didn’t feel too conspicuous walking around the airport snapping pictures.

This is one I might hang onto, but it does have some downsides. Released in 1974, it is meant to take those old PX625 mercury batteries. I just used an LR44 with an adapter, but the voltage isn’t quite right and I think it messed with the exposure a bit. It also maxes out at 400 ISO, and when shooting outside I saw immediately that the exposure needle was stuck at the top (not actually stuck, but you get it). I metered down to 200 and pulled a stop in development and the results were okay, but not ideal. The next time I used some Ektar 100 and metered at 80 just because I like to err on the side of overexposure. I thought the results were great.

Do you have a favorite LBC? What would you add to the list?

Physiologically, I don’t have too much trouble with the biannual clock switching involved with daylight saving time (DST). I adjust pretty quickly. It becomes much more inconvenient when you have small children or pets in the house. The little brains behind the sad eyes don’t understand why breakfast is an hour late or why you’re not up and ready to play an hour early. But even this is manageable.

No, my objections to DST are on veracious grounds. It’s simply a lie.1 The true problem with DST is the indignity of being forced to deny the reality of nature in favor of a fiction that comforts the deranged (I’m talking about golfers, of course). So, take to the streets! It’s time to demand a return to sanity!

A Brief History of Trans-Time

In the United States, summer DST was first mandated nationwide toward the end of WWI by Woodrow Wilson. It had already been instituted by European belligerents as a fuel conservation measure. The opposite of what I was taught in school, DST was unpopular with farmers, because there was less daylight time in the morning for trivial things like milking the cows and getting crops to market. After the war, the law was repealed over Wilson’s veto.

Yet DST lived on, just on the local level. Famously, New York City maintained it, while outlying parts of the state did not. But after the US entered WWII, FDR brought it back nationally—known as War Time—and it lasted until autumn after the war ended.

Once again, the clock-changing decisions were restored to the states and municipalities. But having time itself unregulated at the federal level led to a lot of confusion and inconvenience. So, in 1966, Lyndon Johnson signed the Uniform Time Act, instituting the system most of us are familiar with today. Arizona and Michigan held out, but Michigan eventually caved.

The 1973 oil embargo led to another scarcity-fueled experiment: permanent DST. It started in January 1974 and ended in April 1975, after school children kept dying while on the way to school before dawn. It went back to being a seasonal affair.

The starting and ending dates of seasonal DST have fluctuated since then, but that’s where we are today.

The Wagie Yearns for the Cagie

There are a lot of good data-driven reasons to oppose DST, but I don’t care about them and more importantly neither does anyone who supports DST. The standard argument in favor of DST usually boils down to something like “Give light me give see light me see light give me see light give me you.” There’s really no arguing against this reasoning in a democracy; it’s pretty much flawless. Morning light may be better for your health than evening light, and kids may die on the way to school in the dark, but don’t you dare take that extra hour of light after work when I sit in the living room watching cable news until I realize that it’s gotten dark and I should turn on some lights before the glare of the TV gives me eye strain. Don’t get me wrong, I like being able to take a walk with the family after dinner. It’s a nice activity. But it’s okay if nice things can only be done for 4 months out of the year instead of 6.

The intransigence of the pro-DST side is particularly frustrating because it shines a light on everything else that’s wrong with society and why nothing ever gets fixed. Everyone knows that DST does not actually create more light, at least I hope they do. So the real problems are asset (daylight) allocation and social coordination (time). Solutions to these problems vary from case to case. One business may be able to adjust hours pretty easily, another relies on daylight to work outdoors. Some activities could be done just as easily, and maybe more enjoyably, before work than after. Go work out or play some basketball, or tennis, or golf before work. (I suspect that half the problem people have waking up in the morning is the result of being conditioned to stay up later than they should.) Not everything needs to be standardized. Time can be local.

Unfortunately, most people want easy solutions, even if they’re far from perfect; even if they require the acceptance of lunacy. The wagie must be dragged kicking and screaming out of his cagie.

Revolutionary action is required.

Modest Proposals for Tearing Down Temporal Tyranny

• We must eliminate federal DST, seasonal or otherwise.

• Municipalities should establish their own official time based on solar noon.

• Set your analog watch to the sun and say “screw everyone else, my time is what matters”

• Using advanced technology that I hear so much about and is supposed to improve our lives, people could set their own clocks to the sun and tech could seamlessly translate that time in relation to other people and appointments.

Better yet:

• We could throw away clocks altogether and live like savage forest children.

Go, do your part! Demand and end to DST and reap the benefits! The children you have because your wife got a better night’s sleep will thank you!2

I sneak down the hall at 6 am, tiptoeing past the nightlight that projects Anna and Elsa on the bathroom door. Six is overkill—the sun won’t be up until 7:30—but it will take me most of an hour to get where I’m going and the earlier I get up the less chance there is of waking one of the kids.

We had planned to stay closer to Zion, I even considered springing for a room at the lodge, but my wife’s old college roommate lives in the St George suburbs and offered to let us stay.

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I put my gear in the back of the car and follow my headlights down the dark desert highways, classic western coming through the speakers. I pass through Hurricane, then the brimstone air of La Verkin, before climbing up to to follow the verdant slash of the Virgin River to Rockville. I arrive at my turn well ahead of schedule, so I decide to continue on into the park. The entrance portal is open and unmanned; I drive up the hairpins that lead to the Mount Carmel tunnel, pulling over before I reach it. I set up my tripod and wait for the sun.

I could have done this at my planned destination for the morning, the ghost town of Grafton, but I had a hunch that the rising sun would light up the western cliffs of Zion before it cleared the Mesa and shone on the long-abandoned homes on the banks of the Virgin. I wait. The peaks glow gold, reflecting warmth into the canyon. I get my unplanned pictures, pack up, and head back out of the park.

Much like the rest of Rockville, the turn for the one-lane bridge that leads to the southern bank is easy to miss. But once you’re across, there’s only one road and it leads to Grafton.

In 1859, the original settlement was founded after Brigham Young sent settlers to the area (Dixie) to grow cotton, among other things. Six families, led by Nathan Tenney, crossed the Virgin River and put down roots. Two short years later, a massive flood wiped out the town. They rebuilt Grafton on higher ground and by 1864 there were 28 families living there. Floods continued to make life unpredictable, and Indian raids sometimes forced the settlers across the river into Rockville for the safety of numbers. In subsequent decades many of the people of Grafton helped dig the canal that brought water from the virgin river to the Hurricane Bench. They, in turn, left for that better farm land. By the end of World War II, the last remaining residents left for good.

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Today, there are plenty of people on the left bank. Multi-million dollar construction within spandex-clad cycling distance of the west entrance to Zion National Park. The road on this side is mostly paved, but turns to gravel as it hugs a sandstone wall at the edge of a pasture where horses crop the sparse grass. I’m alone when the road curves past the graveyard and straightens out again between the rustic homesteads, owned both privately and by the Grafton Heritage Partnership Project. I put up some quail—there must be a hundred of them—as I reach the end and get out of the car.

I’m struck by how well preserved the buildings are. The centerpieces are a school building and a two-story home with a spacious front porch. Walking through the gate, I’m greeted by an interpretive plaque that stands like a pulpit overlooking a congregation. The scene is familiar, having been used in at least one famous movie and no doubt more to come.

It’s very quiet here, and I am alone. It makes me want to be silent, to go completely unnoticed. Just in case.

The school is closed, but the house is open and bears a sign on the door: “please keep the door closed (animals)”. The house has been restored. The windows are intact, the walls plastered. The floorboards resound and creak with my every footfall. I worry that I am going to run into someone here in the middle of nowhere at the crack of dawn on a Sunday.

I wander around the property, photographing what catches my interest, exploring a couple more cabins, but by the time I get to the last one I don’t bother going in. I guess I’ve had my fill.

On the way out, I stop at the graveyard. It is also well taken care of. The yard is fenced and the graves tended with fresh rake furrows on the red earth. Offerings, mostly coins, rest on the gravestones. I walk up and down the rows. I spot a familiar/familial name on the stone of one of the wives of the town’s founding father and make a note to look up our common ancestor. In the last row are simple markers, wooden slats with single words: nicknames apparently. I assume beloved pets, but discover that they were Indians that lived and died alongside the settlers.

Another interpretive sign stands outside the graveyard. It tells of the people buried there and of the tragic year of 1866 in which thirteen people died. Families wiped out by diphtheria. Babies taken by scarlet fever. Two teenage girls killed by “Accident—Swing Broke”. A husband, wife, and brother—all in their early twenties—killed by Indians. It’s a hallowed place, watched over by a trio of crows that perch on a nearby hoodoo.

I pay my respects and go. The dust from my wheels rises billowing in the golden morning sunlight.

[Interested in buying this camera or one like it? You can find it here.]

A chorus of conflicting voices erupt in my head as I open the box and first lay eyes on the Yashica 44.

It’s obsolete. 
                                                                            This was a huge mistake. 
             What an adorable little TLR. 
                                                                      Can you even buy 127 film anymore? 
            It’s got to cost a fortune. 
                                                                                      You can rig it to shoot 35mm. 
                                           Seems like a pain. 
Sprocket holes! 
                                                                             Sprocket holes are a stupid gimmick. 
Sprocket holes are an awesome gimmick.

It really is pretty adorable; downright compact in TLR terms. I give it a cursory inspection. The camera is dirty but there are no obvious light leaks, the shutter fires and the speeds vary, the lenses look clear. After cleaning it up, I am ready to test it.

But what to test it with?

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You’d be forgiven for never having heard of the Yashica 44, because it uses a film format no longer in production. 127 film resembles 120 film in that it comes on a spool wrapped in backing paper, but it’s closer to 35mm in size, producing a 40x40mm negative. I imagine it was hard to justify its existence in the space between those two formats.

But in the film world, where there’s a will there’s a way. So thanks to some ingenuity there are currently two main ways to use a 127 camera like the Yashica 44. The first is to cut down 120 film to the proper width. Some people have made jigs for this method, but there’s also at least one company (Film for Classics) doing it at modest scale and selling at major film suppliers like B&H. A roll costs more than a roll of 120, but not by as much as you might expect. The second is to retrofit the camera to accept a 35mm film canister. This is easier on some cameras than others, but the Yashica 44 is viable.

Which brings me to my real quandary. Do I want to be a purist and shoot the cut down 127 film or do I want to be a hack and shoot 35mm? Roll your eyes, but as a lifelong contrarian, I haven’t bought into the whole shooting 35mm panorama on a medium format camera thing. I really don’t begrudge other people doing it, but after seeing every single film photography YouTuber make a video doing it, I don’t know… It’s a me problem I guess. But I really want to test out this camera. I can use an $8 roll of 35mm Kodak Gold or spend $27 for the 127 version.

35mm it is.

To make the film canister fit you need to remove a roller bar, then use some washers and quarters to jam it into place. This process is reversible and does not (necessarily) damage the camera. The film leader has to be trimmed to fit into the 127 take-up spool (you still need one of those). The film counter window on the back of the camera also needs to be taped up to prevent light leaks due to the lack of backing paper.

Shooting with the camera isn’t too bad. In order to get proper spacing, you need to give it an extra quarter wind after advancing each time. There’s no meter, so it’s sunny 16 or an external meter. I just winged it, with tolerable results. Composing your shot takes some consideration. The default orientation is portrait; it’s very awkward to shoot a TLR sideways. And even though the full width of the film is used, you don’t want to put anything important where the sprocket holes are.

The final challenge is unloading the camera. The film is unprotected on the take-up spool, and there’s no way to rewind it, so the camera has to be unloaded in a dark bag. Since I develop at home, I loaded it straight onto the tank; otherwise, you’d need to rewind it into the canister by hand in the bag.

Overall, I liked the camera. I liked the weight and size; it was convenient to carry in one hand while hiking with my kids. However, I didn’t like the hassle involved with using it. While I like the shots I got, I haven’t been anxious to put another roll through it.

Here are the rest of the results. What do you think? Have you used a Yashica 44?

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I got back into film photography in March of last year after a 20-year hiatus. A bit has changed in the interim. For one, some of the film stocks I remember using were no longer available. No more Kodak BW400CN. But a bigger difference is that—thanks to analog film shooters sharing online—there is so much more information about film stocks that I had never heard of before and just had to try. I didn’t go crazy experimenting with film that was new to me, but I did try quite a few of the major players.

With the start of a new year, I’m ready to settle down a bit and explore some of my favorite film stocks more deeply by simplifying what I keep on hand. Right now I shoot 35mm and 120; color and black and white. Here is my not-that-short list of film stocks that I plan to use this year.

Black and White

I didn’t experiment with a lot of black and white films in 2025. Kodak Tri X was my go to, and I used Kentmere PAN 100 and 400 quite a bit.

For B&W, I’m going to try to limit myself just 100 and 400 ISO films. Since there is a lot of flexibility in terms of pushing and pulling B&W film, I’m hoping this is enough.

Kentmere PAN 100

Price is a consideration. The Kentmere films are a great value and are some of the least expensive. I found them to be lower contrast at box speed than I’d prefer, but not too bad. I shot some 100 pushed to 400 a couple weeks ago and loved the results, so that sealed the deal. I plan to use it from 100 to 400 and particularly when testing out cameras that I’ve been working on.

Ilford HP5

Ilford HP5 is a top notch film. I have shot a few rolls of it on both formats and have loved the level of contrast and grain. It’s not terribly expensive, but enough that I keep looking at other options. However, I think it is worth the investment to get to know it better at use it in more portrait work. I also want to try pushing it to 1600 for night shots and concerts.

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Color

On the color side, I have a few more selections given the comparative inflexibility of the medium.

Kodak Ektar 100

At 100 ISO, I’m going with Kodak Ektar. Ektar was one of the first new films I tried last spring, and I have loved it. From Southwest landscapes to hometown car shows it delivers saturated colors that I can’t get enough of.

Kodak Gold 200

Kodak Gold is my choice for 200 speed film. It is high quality and reliable at an affordable price point. It is what I use to test cameras that I am refurbishing, and I plan to go through a lot of it in that capacity. I want something that will let the cameras shine and provide a steady baseline.

Kodak Portra 400

Kodak Portra 400 is next. Portra has a good reputation for a reason. The colors are rich and it captures skin tones well. I could probably get by with Gold, but I want the best for the portrait work I plan to do this year. It is expensive, but I hope that some of the cost can be absorbed elsewhere.

Kodak Portra 800

Finally, I am going to use Kodak Portra 800, but really only in 120. I mostly shoot in the bright outdoors, so other less expensive film stocks suit my purposes better. However, I have a few nighttime projects in mind and my experiments with Portra 800 thus far have been encouraging. I will stick with 120 because shooting 10 frames in an outing is a lot more feasible than 36. My main medium format camera is the RZ67, so even if I don’t get through the roll I can use a different film back. That’s not the case for my preferred 35mm camera. I’ll keep a roll of 35mm Portra 800 on hand in case the opportunity arises to shoot a concert or evening event, but it probably won’t be often.

What about everything else?

I really liked shooting Cinestill 800T, and if I lived in a city I could see choosing that over Portra, but I don’t. Maybe I’ll get some for a special occasion.

The Lomography film stocks I tried were pretty good, but the looks were either too unique or too lackluster at the price point. Maybe I’ll go nuts in 2027 and shoot everything in lomo turquoise.

I tried both versions of Harman Phoenix, but could not scan it for the life of me. Maybe I’ll figure it out next year.

So, that’s my plan for the year. We’ll see if we can stick with it and really get familiar with these types of film. What are your go-to film stocks this year?

[Do not adjust your computer monitors! This post is being brought to you in stunning pananoramavision!]

In my quest to try out new cameras, I recently discovered the Minolta P’s (not sure how you’re supposed to say that, but in the US it was sold as the Minolta Vista Freedom). Introduced in 1991, the P’s is a 35mm point and shoot camera with a fixed 24mm f/4.5 lens. That’s pretty wide; appropriate for a panorama camera.

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You may be thinking: “wow, a 35mm panorama camera! Is it like the Hasselblad XPan?”

No. No, it is not. If you pick up an old point and shoot from the 80s or 90s, you’ll probably see the “panorama” feature that moves a mask over the top and bottom of the standard frame, thereby creating a panorama effect with the resolution of a half-frame camera, essentially. It’s a gimmick that I’ve never been interested in.

But the P’s put a new spin on it. For starters, it has a nice wide fixed lens. Instead of the masks being movable, they too are fixed. This also means that the aspect ratio of the viewfinder is also permanently panoramic. It’s big and clear (for such a small camera) and makes composing your photo rather simple. However, at the end of the day, the P’s is still cropping your photos, leaving a lot of the surface area of each frame unexposed.

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So far, the P’s is the smallest 35mm camera I’ve used. It slides easily into a front pocket, and mine has the worn out paint job to prove that the previous owner did that a lot. The camera has its quirks, like an automatic flash that can only be overridden by holding down a button on the top of the camera while you shoot. But when used mostly as an outdoor camera, that’s not a big issue.

The images were lackluster, a fair distance from sharp. That could be innate or the small amount of fungus that has developed on the tiny lens over time. Either way, the images have a lo-fi, vintage look not uncommon in half-frame cameras.

It’s a cool camera. I could see myself carrying one around as a back up for when I wanted to try something different for a shot or two. Maybe I’ll keep using it while I sell my plasma 100 times, saving up for the XPan.

See more images below and here’s where I’ve got a few cameras up for sale.

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The Olympus Mju is a highly sought after point and shoot camera known for its sharp lens and durability. The Mju Zoom, however, has a less sterling reputation. I’ve now had the chance to try out two Mju Zoom 140s and I think the truth lies somewhere in the middle.

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The Mju Zooms seem to be well built, are somewhat newer among film cameras, and for the most part they deliver good images. I’m not the biggest fan of zoom cameras, and the Mju Zoom 140 has not converted me, but when used at the default focal length the camera is smooth and the images serviceable. Taken out to its farthest reach, the Mju gave me blurry, unusable images.

But when shot wide, it delivered.

It feels nice and substantial in the hand. The controls are easy to use. It’s not the sleekest, but it fits well in a coat pocket if not a pants pocket.

Would I recommend an Olympus Mju zoom 140?

Yes, with some caveats.

Don’t use it for its zoom capabilities. You will likely be disappointed.

Get one that one that is confirmed to work. It only costs a bit more to get one that you know will work. There are a lot of working Mju zooms on the market, which is a good sign for the overall quality of the models.

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I wouldn’t recommend one for your only film camera. This makes a nice addition to an existing collection. I would use it to supplement my workhorse SLR. It would be worth it to pick one up, use it for a while, then resell it when I’ve had my fun. I think the resale value will hold up.

Judge the results for yourself. Here are a few more test shots from both cameras (shot on Kodak Gold 200):

Check out these cameras at my shop!

I made a few attempts at taking photos like that in high school. My classes didn’t cover it, and the internet wasn’t yet a place I turned to for information, so I ended up taking literal shots in the dark. I had a tripod, but no cable release. I think I just guessed at the exposure times. Forget about compensating for reciprocity failure. I still ended up with some photos I liked, but not enough to keep me going.

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When I got my first digital camera, I tried again. Italy was full of great subjects. Digital meant immediate feedback, so a blurry handheld shot just meant that I needed to be steadier and try again.

Eventually, I got a DSLR and with it came a budding interest in astrophotography. Digital cameras were producing amazing images of the stars, and I wanted to try that too. I tried it out here and there—at Bryce Canyon and on the Oregon Coast—but the results were lackluster. Eventually I learned how much editing goes into those colorful pictures and I kind of soured on getting further into it.

Since I’ve picked up film again, I have made some more attempts.

First, I took the old high school camera and tripod over to a nearby church and high school. This time I had a cable release, a meter app, and a reciprocity failure chart. The film was Lomography 800. Nothing to write home about, but not a complete failure.

Long days of summer made it tricky to get low-light shots, but I had an opportunity before sunrise on a road trip. I used Portra 160 and an RZ67 with the prism finder’s built in meter.

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A bit later at a BYU football game, I brought my Nikon f100 loaded with Cinestill 800 metered for 1600. Most shots came out a little underexposed, but I like a few and it was fun taking photos of the fans.

Most recently I have been trying to use my beat up Yashica Mat 124G around town. I had hoped to explore some project ideas with a square format and a camera that is much lighter and smaller than my go-to RZ67. But it is struggling, so I will need to regroup before going forward. The streaking effects are a mystery to me, but I would stick with them were it not for the light leaks that need to be tracked down. As it is, the latch is completely broken, so I have to tape it shut. Maybe I’ll give it one more try and a lot more tape.

I plan to get out for night shooting a lot more in the coming months. More to come.

You drive up the canyon on an October evening to check out the ever-changing colors on the trees: pink maple, ochre scrub oak, yellow aspen. The road winds along the river fork. It is narrow and crumbling at the edges. Deer and wild turkeys occupy a sloping field where the farmer’s work is done for the year and the grass is the cold green of winter.

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A stand of cottonwoods holds up a golden billowing canopy that catches the final rays of the day before the sun rolls down the backside of the range. You can’t look away. You need to walk among those trees; be blessed by their favor.

The next morning, you load up your gear and head back up the canyon. You park at a wide pull-out just past the trees. An unmarked trail leads around the guardrail, over a concrete pad of a long-gone structure, and to a sturdy wooden footbridge. Water glides underneath and between grassy banks. You cross.

On the other side you find a set of ruts in grass still white with the morning frost. A dog’s pawprints are frozen in the mud. It is quiet. You follow the road downstream. The cottonwoods tower overhead, catching the morning sun and raining down leaves that clatter gently on the others that blanket the ground. You walk slowly, amazed by your good fortune. Continuing along the stream, you pass through the trees and into open sunshine. You wonder how far this road goes.

You come across a post. A sign is attached to it, but facing the other way. Seeing it would only spoil the morning. You turn back for another journey through the arbor passage.

[All photos taken on Mamiya RZ67 with Kodak Gold 200 or Portra 400]

There comes a time in every man’s life when he buys a lot of broken/untested cameras from a Japanese auction site. This is completely normal and is in no way indicative of deeper emotional issues.

What it really came down to is that I wanted to try out one of a handful of point-and-shoot cameras and I was growing impatient checking the local thrift stores for treasures. I also didn’t want to pay the going (inflated) rates on eBay. [More on this process in a future post, TBD.]

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Suffice it to say that included in the lot I won was a curious camera the likes of which I had never seen before: the Kyocera (Yashica) Samurai X3.0. I hadn’t even noticed it when I first bid. My mind clocked it as some kind of 90s camcorder that I would have to unload or throw away at some point. In fact, it was a half-frame camera.

I had no previous experience with half-frame cameras—which, you might figure, take standard 35mm film but make a smaller exposure, allowing 72 frames on a roll of 36—I wasn’t even aware of their existence until I got back into film photography earlier this year. The first one I came across was the currently produced Kodak Ektar H35. It’s cool that it’s a new film camera, but the format didn’t really appealed to me. On the one hand I figured that the resolution of a half frame image would be too low to be worth it, on the other hand I can’t imagine having the patience to shoot 72 frames before being able to look at them.

When my lot of potentially broken cameras arrived, I was pleased to find that the Samurai appeared to function with the addition of a new battery. There was no corrosion, the zoom and focus worked, and there was only the smallest trace of fungus on the lens. All that was left to do was try it out with film.

For this test, I only shot 19 half frames on a 24 frame roll of Kodak Gold 200 while out on a dog walk and saved the rest for another camera that I’ll report on later.

Due to the upright camcorder design, the film is loaded vertically, making landscape orientation the default. This makes composition more natural for a regular 35mm shooter, but the camera can be a little awkward in portrait mode.

I felt rather conspicuous walking around town with this camera around my neck or in my hand. It’s not a device that people are used to seeing, and I’m not enough of a hipster to pull it off with nonchalance.

The placement of the zoom buttons takes some getting used to. I think that they are intended to be used with the left hand, but my right hand is just big enough that I wanted to use it and just small enough that it was a bit of a stretch.

When it comes to the quality of the photos, I was impressed. The lens is pretty sharp even if that drops off a bit when zoomed all the way in. (Never go full zoom.) After scanning at home with a digital camera rig, I forgot that I was working with half-frame images. I don’t know how much I would try to enlarge them, but I wouldn’t hesitate to use them in social media or for my own digital scrapbook.

Overall considerations:

Pros: landscape orientation, decent quality images, hipster cred, 72-frame capacity (easier on the budget)

Cons: zoom/focus can be slow and loud, button placement is awkward, meter struggles in some lighting scenarios, 72-frame capacity (takes forever to shoot so many frames)

Want to buy it? I’ve put this one up for sale here.

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A few more shots:

I can’t remember when I picked up a roll of Lomography’s LomoChrome Metropolis. Maybe it was back in May when I bought some of their Purple and Turquoise film (see links for those reviews) for a trip to the National Parks of southern Utah and Colorado. I thought that those film stocks were cool, but kind of one-trick ponies. Sure, Lomography shares lots of creative photos with those shifted colors, but for me the occasions for that kind of photography are few and far between.

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So, maybe that’s why the LomoChrome Metropolis sat on my shelf so long. Then the day came when I thought to myself “I’m not planning to shoot anything all that special with this camera this week, let’s give Metropolis a go.”

Taking it for a spin

I took the roll around town with me: to the park, the rec center, Rock Canyon, Provo Canyon, and just shooting from the car.

I had the film developed by my guys at Allens in Orem and I scanned them with my DSLR at home. I didn’t make any color adjustments (since I have no sense of how this film is supposed to behave) but I did touch up the exposure/contrast on some shots.

This film has a variable ISO rating of 100-400, so I set my camera to 200 for outside shots and 320 for some indoor stuff. But with only one roll rated in the middle I can’t say I tried to stretch this filmstock to its limits.

Initial thoughts

I actually like it. The pictures have a nice muted vintage film look to them. I think this might be the kind of look that people think of when they are trying to make their digital photos look like film. It makes a sunny day look great, and I could see it working well in that regard in either summer or winter. But I also like how it performed inside at the rec center pool.

Skin tones are a little funny, so this probably won’t be a go-to for anything but the most vibe-y portraits.

I don’t have any plans to shoot this film again in the near future, but I’ll keep it in mind. I could see putting it in the rotation. I’d certainly like to try it out in 120.

What are your thoughts? Have you tried out LomoChrome Metropolis? Do you love it?

A few more: