To say that there is a lot of passion about Rolleiflex TLR (twin-lens reflex) cameras feels like a massive understatement. To be sure, there are tons of great film cameras, and there are myriad brands (and specific models) with passionate users. But as I noted in the opening of my Hasselblad 503CW review, for me, anyway, there are just three camera brands that achieved truly legendary, truly iconic status: Rollei, Leica, and Hasselblad. I still don’t own a Leica (maybe one day?), and I’ve already reviewed the Hassy, so it’s time for the Rolleiflex to have a few words on this web site devoted to it.
Even if a Rolleiflex isn’t your cup of tea, there’s no disputing that the cameras hold an important place in the history of photography in general, and cameras specifically. It seems that’s only been amplified in recent years, after John Maloof bought a box of film negatives at an auction back in 2007 and set about scanning and posting them. He made Vivian Maier a household name amongst film photography enthusiasts in the process — which in turn shined a spotlight on the Rolleiflex, Maier’s predominant camera of choice for the thousands of images she took.
To be clear, the word “Rolleiflex” has been applied to a lot of cameras (including 35mm cameras that seem to have little to do with the name as most people know it), so I want to be clear about which camera I’m reviewing here. And that passionate Rolleiflex community? Well, what to call these cameras is a subject of debate, and my particular example goes by no fewer than six different names that I know of:
- Rolleiflex Automat MX
- Rolleiflex Automat MX Type 1
- Rolleiflex Automat Model 4
- Rolleiflex Automat Type 4
- Rolleiflex 3,5 A
- Rolleiflex K4A
It seems rare enough for a camera to have two different names, but 5 or 6 of them? Alas, the Rolleiflex, and its sister camera the Rolleicord, were produced in so many variations by their manufacturer Franke & Heidecke (“F&H”), and there are so many opinions about what they should be called, it’s pretty tough to know what any given camera is — let alone how it should be referred to. But suffice it to say, this review is about one camera; pick any name you want from the list above.
The Back Story
As I’ve written before, when I first got back into film photography, it was via my old Kodak Duaflex II (a simple medium format box cameras that takes 620 film) and my Minolta XG 1 (which takes 135 film).
Using these two cameras in the modern age has revealed a fundamental difference between using a film camera in the pre-digital era, and using one now, in the post-digital era: We consume photography in an entirely different way. That difference has some profound impacts, and it’s also the very reason why I ended-up falling in love with medium format film.
You see, back in the day, we consumed our photos through prints, and getting medium format film processed at the local drug or grocery store — in, say, 1978 — didn’t really show medium format in the best light. Locally, when I had a lab process a roll from my Duaflex back then, I got back prints in return that measured 3-1/2” x 3-1/2” square. If I processed a roll of small format film, even something like 110, I got back 3-1/2” x (roughly) 5-1/2” prints. In short, you got more usable image area (i.e., a larger print) from a smaller format film than you did from square (6×6) medium format. And again, because you’re consuming the photos through those prints? Well, bigger was better, and I had little reason to shoot the Duaflex over 35mm.
These days, of course, most of us consume our photographs digitally — it could be on a smartphone, a tablet, a desktop computer, or an 80” UHD television, or anything in between. And when you view high-resolution scans of medium format vs. smaller formats, well, the differences can be striking. It was that striking difference that sent me looking for a better medium format camera than the Duaflex.
It wasn’t that the Duaflex took bad pictures — it didn’t (and doesn’t). I simply wanted something similar to it, something with a waist-level viewfinder and the same general design, but with the ability to focus, set the aperture, and set the shutter speed, so I had more control over the results — and the Duaflex is fixed aperture, fixed speed, and fixed focus.
There were a few obvious choices: a Yashica Mat-124G, a Mamiya C330, and, of course, some flavor of Rolleiflex. (As you can see in the photo, all three have since joined the family.)
At the time, I wasn’t as familiar with the options for sourcing used gear, and searching the places I did know about unearthed not a single TLR of any kind. As a result, I ended-up getting a Pentax 645 as my second medium format camera — and my first with any ability to actually control the shot.
But I didn’t stop trying to find a TLR to scratch the itch, however.
The first one I found was actually a Yashica-A — a camera I knew nothing about at the time. You can read the full review, but it’s a simplified TLR that like the Duaflex has no bayonet mount for lens accessories, and like the Duaflex has a ruby window on the back. Unlike the Duaflex, however, the Yashica-A does have the ability to control the focus, the aperture, and the shutter speed. It’s a joy to use, and it does take pretty good images, but I wouldn’t characterize it as a particularly high-end camera.
My search for “the” TLR continued, and I eventually found a Rolleiflex in stock at Bergen County Camera in Westwood, New Jersey (see my Directory for info). I’d been traveling regularly to the New York area, so it was an easy stop for me. And while I’d initially wanted (very specifically) a Rolleiflex Automat MX-EVS, the camera they had was close: An Automat MX, the model that immediately preceded the MX-EVS. I didn’t find that I was going to be “settling” in any way by getting it, and the price was also right.
The camera itself was in really good nick, with the exception of wear marks on the leather covering:
I knew that a little leather dye and some conditioning would address that pretty easily. I also knew that replacement coverings were available, worst case.
The camera appeared to operate properly, and the shutter speeds seemed to be accurate; no sluggishness on the low end. The lenses seemed clear. All it seemed to really need was a little TLC and someone who wanted to actually use it.
The store also had a case that fit the camera, gathering dust in their back room. It was missing its strap, but I since I’d gotten a new strap fitted to the case for my Yashica-A, I knew I could address it with this case as well.
Once I got it home, some cleaning and the dye and conditioning did the trick (at least initially; I did end-up replacing some of the leather, but more on that later).
The Camera
The Rolleiflex is, honestly, the stuff of legend, as I said in the opener. Most of that legend was established after World War II, although there were pre-war Rolleiflexes, and in fact, the automatic Rolleis (i.e., “Automats”) were first introduced in 1937.
Pre-war, there were two models, and while there are so many names and identifiers and opinions about them (as I mentioned above), I’ll refer to them as the Automat, and the Automat Type 2. Manufacturing was suspended during the war, as Franke & Heidecke became part of the war production machinery in Germany.
The first post-war Automats appeared in the United States in 1947, as reflected in this advertisement from the New York Times from March of that year, and most sources indicate it was the same Automat Type 2 whose production ended when the war started — although some sources say it was “based on” the pre-war model. Regardless, model and production date references commonly available make no distinction.
That same issue of the newspaper carried editorial on the reintroduction of the Rolleiflex, and the big deal that it apparently was at the time. (You can read more about it and see other materials in a previous article I wrote on the subject.)
In any case, two years later (1949), F&H upgraded the camera to what most know as the Automat X, or Automat Type 3, which added an X sync port for a flash. Two years farther down the road (1951), the company upgraded the camera again to the Automat MX, or Automat Type 4 — my camera — with both M and X flash sync. In 1954, they introduced the model that I originally was looking for, the Automat MX-EVS, or Automat Type 5, which added support the Exposure Value System (EVS), which lets you set the camera based on a metered EV reading, along with the aperture/shutter speed linking to make use of it.
The entire series sported a variety of different lenses. The taking lenses were all f/3.5 with a 75mm focal length, which were supplied by Zeiss Jena, Zeiss Opton (which my example has) or Schneider. All the cameras have Bay 1 (30mm) sized dual (inner and outer) bayonet style filter mounts on both the viewing and taking lenses. The two Zeiss lenses are a Tessar design, while the Schneider is a Xenar, a lens of a very similar design. The later models used modern linear shutter speeds (e.g., 1/125), while the earlier ones used values common on cameras of the era (e.g., 1/100).
The Rolleiflex has been so incredibly popular over the years, and remains so, that there’s a great deal of information on the web that can be unearthed by a web search. As you can see from the naming variations alone, however, not everyone agrees on every detail. And even just the naming alone makes it really difficult to determine (for example) which owner’s manual copy is the right one for your specific camera; most of the ones for the cameras of this period simply say “Automat” because F&H didn’t use names like “Automat MX” for their cameras. Beyond the owner’s manual, it can also be tough to identify which specific camera you’re looking at online, or in a used camera shop. It can all be a slight minefield in some ways, but one worth exploring.
Before we move on, a quick note that I have scanned my printed Rolleiflex Automat MX manual and have made it available here for download. You’ll find it in the Reference Library.
The Experience
There’s really nothing quite like using a Rolleiflex. As I write this review, I’ve used many TLRs, and of all of them, my Rolleiflex remains my favorite. It’s small, smooth, easy to use, and I love the feature that makes this camera an “Automat” — namely that it automatically senses the point where the film strip is attached to the backing paper on 120 roll film (the difference in thickness, really), and will thus automatically stop at the right point for the first frame; there’s no need to align arrows on the backing paper and marks on the camera. And, of course, there’s no ruby window to mess with. You simply load the film, get positive take-up, close the back, and wind. The Automat feature also automatically spaces the 12 images on the strip of film. It was quite the innovation at the time, and honestly, it’s an innovation even today compared to many of the medium format cameras that came after it.
Setting-up a shot is dirt simple. Meter as usual, turn the front dials for the aperture and shutter speed you want, then compose, and shoot.
As with all the TLRs I use, my technique is to get fine focus with the pop-up magnifier, holding the camera to my eye. With that in place, I close the magnifier, and use the waist-level finder the usual way to get things how I want them on the ground glass. (Of course, the image is laterally flipped, and if you’re new to TLRs, that will take getting used to.) I then simply fire the shutter, and wind the film to the next shot.
Well, maybe I do… This version of Rolleiflex makes you think twice about whether you wind the film before the shot, or after. The problem with the Automat MX is that you can’t set the shutter speed for 1/500 (its fastest) with the film advanced, because at that point, the lens is cocked, and something peculiar about the design of the camera makes it impossible to change to the fastest speed when it’s cocked. If you anticipate using 1/500 much, you’ll want to get in the habit of winding just before your shot, after the shutter speed is set. Honestly, it’s a very tough habit to break, as with most cameras, you want to wind right after — on many because otherwise, you’ll get a double exposure, and on still others, like my Hasselblad, it’s because lenses are to be changed only with the camera and shutter cocked and ready, so you tend to leave everything in that state.
Whenever you choose to wind, it always seems so precise and sure. That being said, this camera gives me the same impression that the Hasselblad does — that it’s light, somewhat delicate, perhaps even cheap feeling. Of course, anyone who knows Rolleiflex or Hasselblad knows neither are delicate, or cheap. (I suppose they’re neither cheap in quality, nor cheap in price.) Both cameras were extensively used by professionals in their day, subjected to very hard use in many cases, and they lived to tell the tale (if somewhat worse for the experience perhaps).
As I shot roll after roll with the Rolleiflex, my happiness started to diminish a bit. It wasn’t the camera’s fault, really. After the first shot, it would seem to jam up a little. The focus didn’t seem as sharp as I think it should be with the vaunted Carl Zeiss lens. The shutter button worked differently on the first shot of the roll compared to the last, getting mushy as the roll went on. The self-timer didn’t work reliably. And flash sync was hit or miss. It was rapidly becoming apparent that this camera, now that it was being used again, needed an overhaul or CLA (clean, lube, adjust).
For a time, I dealt with it, but it got to the point where I could no longer deny its need for service. Much like the names for these cameras, there are a lot of opinions about how and where to have them serviced. There are techs that specialize in Rolleiflex repair and maintenance, and those who say that’s the only way to go, and others who say some of the “specialists” are over-priced, or even frauds. Everyone has an opinion; that much I do know.
But after getting a lot of repair work done on a lot of cameras, I can say there’s something to be said about someone with domain expertise on specific models, but that indeed it’s often overstated. In the end, I chose Cameraworks in Colorado Springs, after the success I had with them servicing a couple of Mamiya C-Series lens shutters. The shop services and resells a lot of Rolleiflex cameras, and they have a good track record with me.
The service bill came to US$200, pushing the total cost of this camera to nearly the US$500 mark. Honestly, that’s about what you’d pay for one from many sources, so having it in working condition for that price with a fresh overhaul seemed to make a lot of sense in the end, but it was no longer a particular bargain.
Some of the leather also began to strike me as being in need of replacement. While the dye-and-conditioner approach worked for many surfaces, the back covering and the top of the viewfinder lid truly just needed new leather. Ordering a kit from Hugo Studio (see my Directory for info), I set about doing the job.
I was thankful that the leather I’d chosen from Hugo was a nearly exact match for the original material. The main trick was getting the old coverings off and the underlying metal cleaned so the new material would stick. That required significantly more work than I bargained for, but in the end, it worked out quite well. The one trick with the coverings from Hugo is that you may need to heat the material with a blow dryer and stretch it slightly for a proper fit. I didn’t know that at first, and the fit of the back piece was, frankly, not great; Hugo kindly sent a replacement piece along with a new order I’d made with him for another camera, and in the end, the heating technique allowed me to get a great result.
Even as much as I don’t think of myself as a collector, I seem to have a propensity for accessorizing my cameras in various ways, which is another way of saying that I like to get original accessories, and the Rolleiflex has been no exception. Which is a good segue into the next section.
The Accessories
I’ve found it difficult to find accessories for cameras made in the past couple of decades, but finding accessories for a 70 year old camera is even harder. Finding them in great condition is harder still. As a result, I’ve not personally explored many of the myriad accessories that Franke & Heidecke made back in the day.
Probably the most readily available are lens hoods and filters, which are often bundled as a set. I had the great pleasure of finding one of these sets in pristine condition, and I wrote about it back in 2019 while covering black and white contrast filters more generally.
But beyond the hood and contrast filters, here’s a brief and incomplete list of some of the key accessories you may be able to find if you look hard enough (and get lucky):
- Rolleinars
The Rolleinars are close-up supplementary lenses that attach to both the viewing and taking lenses of the Rolleiflex. I wrote an entire article about them, so I won’t repeat more of that here. What I will say here is that they’re delightful to use, but then I’m a fan of close-up photography — that strange space between regular photographs with regular lenses, and true macro photography. My set of Rolleinars came in the same kit as the hood and filters I mentioned previously, but they were available separately as well, and can be found that way today. I would suggest reading the article I just mentioned to ensure you’re getting a complete set of them if you do buy one. - Other Filters
Beyond the color contrast filters for black and white photography that I already mentioned, there are:- UV filters (separate ones for both color — called an H1 filter — and black and white — the regular UV filter).
- Soft focus filters (the Rolleisoft filters).
- A polarizing filter (the Rolleipol).
- An infrared filter.
- Miscellany
The list sort of goes on and on here, from the “Ever Ready” leather field cases to replacement focus knobs with film indicators, and on to extension hoods, panorama heads, the Rolleikin (an adapter for using 135 film in the camera), and apparently even some sort of set-up for shooting sheet film. Of all of these, I’d love someday to find a complete Rolleikin set, but every one I’ve seen when I’ve gone looking is incomplete and missing pieces. Again, this is what happens when 70 years go by.
The Results
Now, I think, to the most important part: the results. Here, I present a range of images; some are color, some black and white. Some are plain, some are with filters, and some are with the Rolleinar close-up supplementary lenses. Some are before the camera was CLA’ed, and some from after.
Across the board, I hope you’ll agree that this old Rolleiflex has still got it going on.
The Specifications
F&H didn’t publish specifications in their owner’s manuals, but here are some notable ones:
Measurements
Height (Closed): 145mm
Height (Opened): 205mm
Depth: 100mm
Width (Body Only): 75mm
Width (with Projections): 95mm
Other
Shutter Speeds: B, 1, 1/2, 1/5, 1/10, 1/25, 1/50, 1/100, 1/250, 1/500
Aperture: f/3.5 through f/22
Viewing Lens: Heidosmat 75mm f/2.8
Taking Lens: Zeiss-Opton Tessar 75mm f/3.5
Self-Timer: Mechanical
Flash Sync: X and M with standard non-locking PC terminal
Shutter Release: Locking with integrated standard cable release threads
Construction: Metal with leather trim
The Pronunciation
I don’t normally have a section by this name in my reviews, but I’ll make an exception here. Call me picky, or call me purist, but most Americans pronounce “Rolleiflex” incorrectly, either as ROLL-ee-flex, or ROLL-uh-flex. In point of fact, it’s much closer to ROLL-EYE-flex. If it’s easier to hear it, leave it to a German to pronounce a German brand properly — which you can do by watching Max Heinrich say the name in his Analogue Insights review of the Rolleiflex 3.5F.
Footnotes
None at the present time.
