For the spy in you.

Minox B and 36 exposure film cassette.

Having made 150,941 of its various predecessors, with production starting in Riga, Latvia in 1936, Minox had refined their spy camera to the extent that a dual range, coupled selenium meter was included in the ‘B’ model, first made in 1956. Production totaled a startling 384,328 through 1972, suggesting there were either more Russkie spies than even the CIA counted, or that there were some 300,000 plus twits who thought they could get decent sized prints from the 8 x 11 mm negative the camera produced. They couldn’t.

That’s not to denigrate the ingenuity of the design which includes neutral density and green filters, shutter speeds from 1/2 second to 1/1000, B and T, and focusing to a scant 8″ using the included lanyard as a distance scale. Film cassettes held up to 50 exposures and the very decent viewfinder has a suspended, illuminated frame. The lens has a fixed f/3.5 aperture and with a focal length of 15mm the depth of field is large.

The Minox was part of a complete camera system which included a binocular attachment for the super spook, a projector, an enlarger, a tripod holder and tripod, and a flash attachment for AG1 peanut flash bulbs for midnight spookery.

Minox B with flashbulb attachment. The reflector retracts.

This is the latest addition to the Home Theater photographic hardware display and dates from 1962. Believe it or not, it has a properly functioning exposure meter, activated with the button at right. By the time the B was made production had moved to Wetzlar in Germany and the camera is quite beautifully made, just like the Leica M3 next door. But now that everyone on earth has a spy camera – it’s called a cell phone – the Minox is no more than a charming period piece on display with a variety of other classics, and it is most assuredly a classic piece. However, if you need huge prints, stick with that iPhone.

Michael Caine has at it in The Ipcress File, 1965.

A Zeiss masterpiece.

The German Bauhaus architecture movement ran through the 1950s and had a singular focus on function over form. You can get a sense of it from the Bauhaus building in Dessau, though why architect Walter Gropius felt compelled to add the name of the movement to the building remains a mystery (and the ‘S’ is too small!):

The Bauhaus building in Dessau.

The windows are large, the design is largely one of right angles and the mass production aspect of the parts is self evident.

What has this to do with the Zeiss Ikon Contax IIa which was manufactured between 1950-60? Well, this supremely elegant camera first saw the light of day as the pre-war Contax II about which I wrote a decade ago. The Bauhaus influence on the design is writ large.

The Contax II was introduced in 1936 and bombed out of existence by the Allies in the second world war. The IIa was an improved model with aluminum replacing the fragile brass slats of the roller blind vertically traveling focal plane shutter. Further, the film counter was integrated into the advance knob rather than having a separate top plate window. The rangefinder base length was shortened slightly and the overall quality went up.

And when you pick up a IIa the overwhelming impression is one of mass – it’s heavy for its small size – and quality of construction and finish. Everything is tight, the engraving and knurling are to die for and it feels right in the hand. And the clean lines clearly show the Bauhaus influence on the original design, carried on after the war.

Modern gargantuanism dwarfs the petite Contax IIa

It may lack electronic gizmos, but the size is just so.

The detachable 50mm f/2 Sonnar is tiny. The focus helicoid is attached to the body, not the lens.

Note the subtle changes in font sizes.
The dual bayonet mounts accommodate short and long lenses.

Engraving and knurling quality to die for.

Near mint strap lugs testify that this is not a ‘beater’.

Why buy a 75 year old rangefinder camera with no automation, no digital sensor and using film? Because it is an object of engineering beauty and joins other of its ilk on display in the home theater. In addition to many classic movie posters, that room displays a Bolex H16 16mm film camera, an ancient Weston Master selenium cell meter, a period Bell & Howell 16mm film projector, a Goldberg 35mm film reel and an antique candlestick phone. The Contax, like all of those, is in perfect working order.

On display in the home theater.
Nothing less than a Leitz tabletop tripod and ball head would suffice.

Gorgeous.

A beautiful thing.

As a once upon a time (a long time ago) Leica M enthusiast, it’s hard not to look at the new M11 and come away impressed with the sheer physical beauty of the machine.

While the entry price – reckon north of $20,000 for a body with three aspherical Leica lenses to do justice to the monster sensor – is ridiculous, and the absence of IS and AF makes the tool anachronistic, it’s a beautiful thing to behold.

Oh! boy.

If you think the ergonomics of the iPhone as a camera are awful – and they are – you should try the 1950s Exakta Varex.

Ergonomic nightmare.

Made in East Germany, which probably says it all, this camera was uniquely bad when it came to hand-held use. The film wind was left handed, though a massive arc with a pencil thin lever which needed two or more hands to operate. Multi-stroking was a no-no. So, naturally, the shutter release was also left handed, and with auto diaphragm lenses the protrusion on front of the lens covered the shutter button on the body. First pressure stopped the lens down, further pressure tripping the shutter. The release button stuck out a mile, making use a challenge. On early lenses the diaphragm had to be manually re-tensioned with a concentric lever on the lens. There was no focusing aid in the dim pentaprism so you sort of sawed the lens back and forth until the image was at its least unsharp. True masochists opted for the waist level finder, which made things even worse.

There are two shutter speed dials, but the main one atop the body can only be set in one direction, counterclockwise, so you may have to hose it around through almost a full circle to get to the next slower speed. Set it to ‘B’ and the secondary dial comes into play, with extended speeds down to 12 seconds. There is no rhyme or reason in the speed settings or progression and you have to separately wind that second dial. Well, you are beginning to get the idea by now. This thing is a disaster.

1/5th second? No prob. Choice of two.

The bayonet lens throat was very small, making design of fast and wide lenses a challenge. For reasons known only to themselves, the excellent Swiss Alpa and the no less excellent Japanese Topcon SLRs used the Exakta mount, though both had the sense to opt for a right-handed shutter button. Alpa stuck with external aperture actuation whereas Topcon at least had the sense to internalize the mechanism. Unsurprisingly, both marques failed. A real shame in the case of the Topcon which was extremely reliable and robust, much favored by the US Navy.

However, should you opt for cassette to cassette transport of film in your Varex, there’s a film cutter in the base. Pull it out and your film is sliced in half. So you have that going for you.

The chances that all this wonderful Commie engineering will actually see anything work in this body after all these years – they have a nasty habit of rusting as stainless metals were anathema to Stalin’s forces – are pretty near zero, which is in keeping with the general spirit of this disaster. I recall selling these new (they struggled on with later models through the late 1960s), during my Years in retail and they felt fragile even when brand new. The last version – the VX1000 – added an automatic return mirror, just one more thing to go wrong. Nice to display these for their funky looks, but if you want lousy ergos in a working camera, stick with your iPhone.