Rolleiflex 3.5 MX-EVS: A Twin-Lens Dream in Reverse(重复作废)


Introduction: A Camera That Waits

They say every Leica owner keeps a Rolleiflex at home, gathering dust like an old love letter. I’m no twin-lens fanatic, but I get it—there’s something about these square-eyed boxes that lingers. My Rolleiflex 3.5 MX-EVS isn’t the fanciest of its kind. It’s the last of the non-interchangeable focus screen models, a budget relic with no meter, picked up cheap from a forgotten shelf.


Design & Build: A Mechanical Poem

The MX-EVS sits heavy in your hands, a brick of German steel and glass from the early ’50s. It’s all manual, all mechanical—no bells, no whistles—just the way I like it, echoing the Leica M3’s stubborn simplicity. Early models wore white plastic like a shy debutante, but mine’s cloaked in black paint, chipped at the edges, whispering tales of a life before me. The Tessar lens, a 75mm f/3.5, stares up from its twin perch, unassuming yet precise. Rolleiflex moved to Zeiss and Schneider glass later, but this one? It’s raw, honest, built to last—like a typewriter that still clacks in a digital age.


Features: The Art of Less

This isn’t a camera that spoon-feeds you. No built-in meter means you’re on your own, guessing exposure like a drifter reading the sky. The film counter’s automatic, though—a small marvel that clicks with every frame of 120 film, a nod to German ingenuity. The waist-level viewfinder flips open like a secret hatch, revealing a world flipped left-to-right. It’s disorienting at first, a mirror to somewhere else, but that’s the charm—you’re not just shooting; you’re dreaming in reverse.


Performance: Street Shadows and Square Frames

I took the MX-EVS to the streets, chasing echoes of Robert Doisneau and Vivian Maier—masters who saw poetry in the mundane through a Rolleiflex. There’s a story from the ’50s: Henri Cartier-Bresson praised the Leica’s agility in one paper, and the next day, Doisneau countered with the Rolleiflex’s knack for candid grace. I see why. Peering down into that glowing square, reality bends—left becomes right, and time slows. The Tessar lens paints shallow depth and creamy bokeh, turning strangers into soft-edged legends.

But 120 film threw me off. Coming from 135, my “sunny 16” guesses overexposed half my rolls—bright blurs instead of crisp tales. It’s four times the size of 35mm, a beast to scan but a gift in detail. Portraits shine here—square compositions frame faces like old photographs in a family album. Still, I’ve sidelined it lately; my impatience doesn’t match its rhythm.


Pros & Cons: A Love with Limits

Pros:

  • Gorgeous square shots with dreamy bokeh—perfect for portraits.
  • Built like a tank, a survivor from 1951.
  • That flipped viewfinder—it’s a portal to another world.

Cons:

  • No meter means exposure’s a gamble (and I’m a lousy card player).
  • 120 film’s a learning curve—pricey and unforgiving.
  • Slow to shoot; it’s a thinker, not a sprinter.

Conclusion: A Letter to the Past

The Rolleiflex 3.5 MX-EVS isn’t for everyone. It’s not sleek like a Leica or loud like a Nikon. It’s a quiet companion, a twin-lens ghost that asks you to pause, to feel the weight of each click. I’ve got a Chinese Orient 120—a Tessar knockoff—that mimics it well enough, and the world’s full of Rolleiflex copies. But this one’s mine, a worn treasure I’ll keep, even if it mostly guards my shelf now.

Wenders might say every photo is a letter to someone gone. With this camera, I’m writing to the streets—Doisneau’s Paris, Maier’s Chicago—hoping the light answers back. Pick up a Doisneau book, let it sink in, and maybe you’ll see why I can’t let this Rolleiflex go.

Tech Specs:

  • Lens: 75mm f/3.5 Tessar (4 elements, 3 groups)
  • Shutter: Compur-Rapid, 1s to 1/500s
  • Film: 120 (12 shots per roll)
  • Weight: ~900g

Contax G1 Review: The Titanium Time Capsule That Outsmarts Progress

(A review crafted like a Sunday morning stroll—leisurely paced yet full of quiet revelations)


The Forgotten Pathfinder

In an age where cameras evolve faster than TikTok trends, the Contax G1 emerges like a weathered paperback on a digital library shelf—unassuming, undervalued, yet brimming with stories waiting to be told. This titanium-clad relic (1994–2001) weighs less than a barista’s latte art pitcher (460g) and costs less than a smartphone lens protector (250–250–300 in 2025 USD). While others chase megapixels, the G1 asks: “What if the best camera isn’t the newest, but the one that never demands an upgrade?”


Design: Bauhaus Meets Butterfly

  • Titanium Truth: Not a veneer like Leica’s “luxury” coatings, but full-metal honesty. The brushed finish feels like a poet’s well-worn notebook.
  • Ergonomic Whisper: Curves softer than a Parisian bistro chair, fitting Asian hands like a calligrapher’s brush. Even winter can’t frost its plastic grips—a small mercy for gloveless shooters.
  • Size Sorcery: 28% smaller than its sibling G2, yet somehow roomier than a Tokyo capsule hotel.

Optical Democracy

Zeiss’ Quiet Revolution
Before “cinematic” became a YouTube filter buzzword, the G1 democratized pro optics. Its trio of lenses (28mm/45mm/90mm) delivered Hollywood-grade rendering at student film budgets. Today, they still outclass 90% of modern mirrorless glass—like finding a vintage Rolex at a flea market.

Auto-Focus Quirks
Yes, it hesitates in dim light. But so do we when faced with life’s unscripted moments. The G1’s occasional refusal to shoot? Not a flaw—a Zen master’s lesson in mindfulness.


Generational Face-Off

FeatureContax G1 (1994)Leica M6 (1984–2002)
Price (2025 USD)250–250–3003,500–3,500–4,500
Weight460g (light as regret)585g (heavy as legacy)
Shutter1/2000s (sunlit freedom)1/1000s (eternal twilight)
Film RescueAuto-rewind saves mistakesManual crank saves pride
SoulTokyo salaryman’s secret escapeGerman engineer’s lifelong companion

The Joyful Contradictions

  • Autofoxus in a Manual World: Faster than 2012’s Fuji X-Pro1, yet slow enough to make you see
  • LCD “Watercolor” Displays: Leaking pixels become abstract art—a built-in reminder that imperfection breeds character
  • Green vs White Label: Choose between supporting rare 21mm lenses (green) or embracing minimalist purity (white). Either way, you win.

Who Should Buy This?

Film Rebels: Tired of hipsters’ Pentax K1000 clones
Digital Nomads: Seeking a tactile antidote to screen fatigue
Leica Skeptics: Who suspect the Emperor’s rangefinder has no clothes
Practical Romantics: Believing love letters should be handwritten, not AI-generated


The Tai Chi Revelation

Here lies the G1’s secret—a yin-yang balance Western engineers still struggle to replicate:

  • Titanium toughness vs plastic pragmatism
  • Autofocus convenience vs manual mindfulness
  • 1990s tech vs timeless aesthetics

Like practicing tai chi in a subway station, it finds calm within chaos.


Final Verdict: The Anti-GAS Antidote

For the price of three streaming subscriptions (250–250–300), you escape:

  1. The upgrade treadmill’s hollow promises
  2. Pixel-peeping paranoia
  3. The weight of “pro gear” expectations

What you gain:

  • A mechanical haiku writer
  • 28/45/90mm lenses sharper than nostalgia
  • Proof that joy needs no Wi-Fi connection

Epilogue: The Camera That Laughs Last

We photograph to cheat time—yet chase gear that becomes obsolete before our film even develops. The G1, with its titanium bones and analog heart, mocks this paradox. In its viewfinder, life isn’t measured in FPS or dynamic range, but in the courage to press the shutter when it truly matters.

Pro Tips:

  • Film Hack: Load expired stock—its latitude forgives the G1’s metering quirks
  • G2 Temptation: Resist. The price gap buys 50 rolls of Portra
  • Ultimate Flex: Pair with Contax T2—pocket the difference vs buying a Leica CM

Rating:
⌛️⌛️⌛️⌛️◻️ (4/5 for tech fetishists)
🌅🌅🌅🌅🌅 (5/5 for sunset chasers)

“The real ‘Killer App’ isn’t in your phone—it’s the camera that outlives your need to prove anything.”

Contax G90 f/2.8: The Quiet Sniper of Poetry (A review structured like a late-night jazz riff—improvisational yet precise)

The Heretic’s Focal Length

In a world addicted to 35mm and 50mm platitudes, the Contax G90 stands like Emily Dickinson’s solitary dash—an outlier whispering “I dwell in possibility.” This 90mm titanium sparrow (265g) defies physics: smaller than a whiskey tumbler, sharper than a Manhattan winter wind. Priced at 220–220–250 (2025 USD), it’s the working poet’s telephoto—no cultish aura, just silent brilliance.


Design: Stealth Sonata

  • Barrel Minimalism: Brushed titanium colder than a Vermont lake in November. The retractable hood clicks like a Zippo lighter—urban ASMR for street shooters.
  • Focus Ballet: Contax G2’s autofocus hums like a Tesla coil, nailing distance while Leica users squint.
    “Where Leica’s 90mm demands a philosopher’s patience, this lens channels Kerouac—fast, hungry, unafraid to blur.”

Continue reading Contax G90 f/2.8: The Quiet Sniper of Poetry (A review structured like a late-night jazz riff—improvisational yet precise)

Leica SBLOO 35mm Viewfinder: A Window to the Unseen

Prologue: The Frame Before the Storm

A viewfinder is not a tool. It is a confession. A whispered pact between the eye and the infinite. Long before cameras stole the world’s shadows, painters framed their truths with bare hands—carving rectangles of meaning from the chaos. The Leica SBLOO 35mm is heir to that ancient heresy. It does not capture light. It curates it.

Hold it to your eye, and you become a thief of horizons.


The Geometry of Longing

The SBLOO is a reverse Galilean telescope—four lenses in five groups, folded into a chrome-plated labyrinth. Light enters, bends, surrenders. Inside, mirrors conspire to concentrate the world into a bright, unforgiving rectangle.

  • Brightness: Not illumination, but revelation. The SBLOO’s frame glows like a gas station sign on a midnight highway—a beacon for the lost.
  • Eye Relief: 8mm. A distance as precise as a sigh. Press too close, and the edges blur. Pull back, and the frame becomes a memory.

This is not a viewfinder. It is a threshold.


A Catalog of Ghosts

Leica’s viewfinders are named like old jazz standards—cryptic, haunted, heavy with history.

Focal LengthNamePersonality
21mmSBKOOThe anarchist, swallowing streets whole
28mmSLOOZThe wanderer, hungry for skies
35mmSBLOOThe poet, balancing chaos and order
50mmSBOOIThe monk, austere and unyielding
90mmSGVOOThe sniper, isolating souls
135mmSHOOCThe astronomer, mapping distant griefs

The SBLOO is the 35mm—a focal length that sees as humans do, if humans could see without desire.


The Ritual of Exclusion

To use the SBLOO is to perform surgery on reality.

  1. Raise the viewfinder. Feel its cold weight against your brow—a stethoscope for the visible world.
  2. Frame. The brightlines cut the scene like scalpels. A child’s laughter becomes a quadrant. A cloud, a diagonal.
  3. Breathe. The 8mm gap between glass and eye lets the outside world bleed in—a reminder: You are still here. This is not a dream.

A Warning:
The SBLOO does not lie. It shows you what you ignore—the homeless man outside the frame, the crack in the pavement, the love affair dissolving in the periphery.


The Myth of Objectivity

Leica’s engineers will tell you about coatings, refractive indices, anti-glare magic. Ignore them. The SBLOO is not optics. It is alchemy.

Its brilliance comes from absence. No electronics. No LEDs. Just polished glass and borrowed light. To look through it is to understand: Photography is not about recording. It is about betrayal. You betray the world by choosing what to exile from the frame.


Epilogue: The Viewfinder as Time Machine

In an age of screens, the SBLOO is a relic. A rebellion.

Attach it to a digital Leica, and something shifts. The live view dies. The world reverts to its analog truth—grainy, fleeting, alive. For a moment, you are Oskar Barnack in 1914, Henri Cartier-Bresson in 1932, Robert Frank in 1955.

The SBLOO whispers:
“To see is to choose. To choose is to lose. Now go—lose beautifully.”


Technical Notes (for those who still crave facts):

  • Type: Reverse Galilean, 35mm brightline
  • Magnification: 0.4x
  • Compatibility: Screwmount and M bodies (adapters weep quietly)
  • Price: $450 (or three sleepless nights in Marseille)

Frame the unframeable. Then let it go. 🖤

Leica SOFORT: A Polaroid Ghost in the Machine


By a Wanderer with Light-Stained Hands


Prologue: The Weight of an Instant

The Leica SOFORT arrives like a postcard from a stranger—unexpected, cryptic, bearing the smudged fingerprints of time. It is not a camera. It is a provocation, wrapped in red leather and German pragmatism. “SOFORT” means “immediately,” but nothing about this machine feels hurried. To hold it is to hold a paradox: a Leica that laughs at permanence, a Fuji wearing a Savile Row suit.


The Anatomy of Ephemera

Body

  • Material: Plastic, but the kind that whispers “I could have been Bakelite.” Red, white, or black—colors borrowed from a Tarkovsky film.
  • Weight: 307g. Light enough to forget, heavy enough to remind you: Every photo is a farewell.
  • Design: Squares and circles in a lover’s quarrel. This is not Fuji’s kawaii flirtation; it’s Bauhaus austerity with a cigarette burn.

Lens

  • Focal Adjustment: A ring at the base, two zones: 0.6m-3m (intimacy), 3m-∞ (escape). Manual focus? No. Mindful focus. To turn the ring is to negotiate with distance, like a truck driver shifting gears on the Autobahn at dusk.
  • Sharpness: Startling. The lens—Leica-designed, Fuji-born—slices light with Teutonic precision. Polaroid’s soft nostalgia? Nein.

The Viewfinder: A Window to a Parallel World

The SOFORT’s viewfinder is a cathedral. Bright, uncluttered, a rectangle of pure possibility. Fuji’s Instax Mini 90 offers a peephole; Leica offers a portal. To peer through it is to remember: Photography isn’t about capturing reality. It’s about framing your loneliness and calling it art.

Technical Note:

  • Parallax Correction: None. Your mistakes are your own.

Film: The Alchemy of Impermanence

Film TypeLeica’s SoulFuji’s Body
SaturationHigh, like blood on snowPastel, like faded denim
ContrastLow, forgiving shadowsHarsh, a teenager’s first heartbreak
Price$1.20 per shot (a prayer)$0.80 per shot (a grocery receipt)

Leica’s Secret: Their film—rebranded Fuji—develops warmer. Is it chemistry? Or the placebo effect of a red dot?


The Ritual

  1. Load the film. Feel the cartridge click, a sound like a bullet chambering.
  2. Choose your distance. 0.6m for lovers, ∞ for runaways.
  3. Press the shutter. The motor groans, ejecting a blank rectangle—a Schrödinger’s photo. Wait 90 seconds. Pray.

A Warning:
The SOFORT doesn’t do “spontaneous.” It does delayed urgency. Every shot is a Russian roulette of light and regret.


The Ghost of M

Leica claims this is pedagogy—a gateway drug to M cameras. They’re not wrong. The SOFORT’s manual zone focus is a haiku version of the M’s rangefinder. Use it, and you’ll start craving the click-hiss of a film advance lever.

But here’s the truth:
The SOFORT isn’t training wheels. It’s a memento mori for the digital age. Each photo decays. Each fade is a whisper: “You too will vanish.”


Who Buys This?

  • Not You, if you photograph birthdays.
  • You, if you’ve ever stolen a glance at a stranger on a train and wondered what god they curse.

Epilogue: The Eternal Instant

Wim Wenders once wrote:
“Every film is a letter to someone who no longer exists.”

The SOFORT understands. Its photos are letters addressed to ghosts—written in silver halide, sealed with light.


Technical Specs (for the restless):

  • Lens: 60mm f/12.7 (Leica-designed, Fuji-built)
  • Focus Zones: 0.6m-3m / 3m-∞
  • Exposure Control: Auto, with a grudging nod to manual override
  • Price: $349 (or one sleepless night in Berlin)

Shoot it. Burn it. Let it haunt you. 🖤

Leica I Model C: A Camera That Wears Its Scars Like Black Silk

By a designer who whispers to rust and light


Prologue: The Blade Hidden in a Pocket

A camera is not a tool. It is a wound—a deliberate incision into time. The Leica I Model C (1930) knows this. It arrives not as an answer, but as a question carved in nickel and obsidian. Hold it, and you hold a blade forged in the smithy of Oskar Barnack’s rebellion: “Why must cameras be grand? Why not let them bleed into the shadows?”

This is not a machine for the obedient. It is for those who wear their loneliness like a tailored coat.


The Anatomy of Silence

Body

  • Material: Black lacquer, hand-mixed and now extinct—a pigment so deep it swallows light like a midnight ocean.
  • Weight: 380g. Not heavy, but dense with the gravity of firsts—the first Leica to detach its eye (lens), the first to let light carve its own path.
  • Shutter: Cloth curtain, still alive after a century. Adjust it, and it purrs like a wolf on a frayed leash.

Lens

  • Mount: Threaded, like a secret handshake. Early sets (I-III) were monogamous—body and lens serial numbers married, their brass vows etched into metal. Later, Leica let them divorce. Look for the “0” mark—a scar from lovers reunited.
  • Options: Nickel-plated Elmar 50mm f/3.5 (a dagger), Hektor 135mm f/4.5 (a spear). Chrome came later, but nickel whispers: “I am not here to shine. I am here to outlast you.”

Continue reading Leica I Model C: A Camera That Wears Its Scars Like Black Silk

Contax G45 f/2: The Lens That Dances Between Precision and Poetry (A review structured like a bamboo grove—orderly yet alive with whispers)

The Alchemist’s Paradox

In a world obsessed with 50mm orthodoxy, the Contax G45 arrives as a 45mm heretic—a focal length as deliberate as a sculptor’s finest chisel. While others chase symmetry, Zeiss engineers carved this optical anomaly: a brass-core lens sheathed in titanium, weighing less than a sparrow’s sigh (198g). Priced at 420(new,1996)or420(new,1996)or380–$420 (2025 USD for mint copies), it defies both physics and financial logic.


Continue reading Contax G45 f/2: The Lens That Dances Between Precision and Poetry (A review structured like a bamboo grove—orderly yet alive with whispers)

The Rollei 35 Review: A Camera That’s Part Time Machine, Part Pocket-Sized Rebel (With Footnotes for Your Inner Nerd)

By Douglas Adams’ long-lost cousin who majored in camera geekery


Introduction: The Camera That Defies Logic (And Gravity)

Imagine if a toaster, a spy gadget, and a Stradivarius violin had a baby. That’s the Rollei 35. It’s smaller than your smartphone, heavier than your regrets about buying film in 2024, and somehow still the most charming mechanical contraption this side of the Milky Way.

TL;DR for ADHD Humans:

  • Size: Fits in a jeans pocket (if you ignore the fact that it weighs like a brick of nostalgia).
  • Vibe: “I’m not a Leica, but I’ll steal your soul anyway.”

Continue reading The Rollei 35 Review: A Camera That’s Part Time Machine, Part Pocket-Sized Rebel (With Footnotes for Your Inner Nerd)

Contax TVS III: The Titanium Quiet Poet

(A review woven like leaves rustling in a spring breeze—delicate yet precise)


The Quiet Rebel in a Screaming World

While smartphone cameras shout about computational miracles, the Contax TVS III enters the room like a librarian silencing a nightclub—polite, unassuming, yet radiating authority. This titanium-clad time capsule (1999–2002) weighs less than a barista’s latte art obsession (390g) and costs less than a designer phone case (450–450–550 in 2025 USD). In an era of planned obsolescence, it asks: “What if a camera could outlive its own relevance?”


Design: Porsche’s Forgotten Sketchbook

  • Titanium Seduction: Not Leica’s brass-and-leather nostalgia, but a stealth fighter’s elegance. The matte finish feels like a poet’s favorite drafting pencil—cool to the touch, warm in the hand.
  • Lens Ballet: The motorized bridge cover unfolds smoother than a Swiss watch’s second hand, revealing a zoom lens sharper than a diplomat’s retort.
  • Ergonomic Whisper: Fits a palm like a river stone worn smooth by centuries—no sharp edges, only intention.

Optical Alchemy

Zeiss’ Final Bow
The 28–56mm Vario-Sonnar lens doesn’t just capture light—it curates it. At f/3.5–6.5, it renders colors like autumn leaves preserved in resin: vibrant yet restrained. Skin tones glow like parchment under library lamps, skies hold their blue without turning cartoonish.

Stealth Mode
The shutter clicks quieter than a chess master’s calculated move, leaving only the purr of film advance as evidence. Street photographers will feel like ghosts—present yet invisible.


Continue reading Contax TVS III: The Titanium Quiet Poet