My collection of film cameras now exceeds 60 different models, and a narrow majority of them use 135 (or “35mm”) film. Each and every one of those cameras owes part of its existence to one man: August Nagel. While the use of 35mm film stocks in still photography was not new, it was Dr. Nagel who saw the value of a daylight-loading film cassette that came factory-loaded with 35mm film, so that photographers wouldn’t have to load their own film into proprietary containers in a darkroom. Nagel’s approach became known as 135 roll film, and to align with the introduction of the film in 1934, Dr. Nagel designed a camera to use it: the Kodak Retina. It would eventually become a long and popular line of cameras that continued well past Dr. Nagel’s death, but the very first of them was the Kodak Retina Nr. 117 — “Nr.” (rather than “No.”) owing to its German origins.
The Back Story
The story of August Nagel and Kodak’s purchase of his Stuttgart, Germany-based camera company in 1931 has been told many times; I even recapped a version of it in my review of the Kodak Retina IIc. As such, I won’t rehash the story here. Suffice it to say that Nagel had a significant, if not widely known (or appreciated) impact on the evolution of film photography.
As you can read in the above-referenced review, in 2020, I “discovered” the Kodak Retina family quite by accident, and in the time since that review was started and eventually published here, I’ve become a bit of a Kodak Retina obsessive.
Well, folding Kodak Retina obsession, anyway; from the Nr. 117 that’s the subject of this review, up until the late 1950s, all Kodak Retina cameras were “folding” models, meaning that the front standard of the camera (the flat part containing the lens) folded into the camera body behind a latching door. The Kodak Retina IIS and IIIS, the various members of the Retina Reflex line, the Retina Automatics, and later still the Retina S1 and S2 changed the Retina formula. Its pretty well impossible to find anyone to repair an Automatic or the S1/S2 cameras, so I steer clear of them.* (The S1 and S2 bear no resemblance to any of the other Retinas, so I steer clear of them for other reasons too.) But while I also avoided the Reflex cameras for similar reasons, I’ve since acquired three of them and had them all serviced; they’re among my favorite SLRs.
In any case, the folding Retinas are all (by and large) quite serviceable,* and represent some of the greatest bargains in vintage 35mm film cameras. The line is varied and long, and began with the Nr. 117 in 1934, and ended with the 1957 introduction of the IIIC (Type 028) — and its sister model, the rare IIC (Type 029). The IIC wasn’t as long-lived, but IIIC was made until 1960, at which point the folding Retina story came to an end.
Ample empirical evidence suggests that the first (Nr. 117) and last (IIIC, Type 028) are the most sought-after folding Retinas — and typically the most expensive. (The Retina IIa Type 016 is also a collector favorite.) But “expensive” is relative; a decent example of either one in cosmetically good and serviceable condition can often be had for less than US$400. Contrast that with the typical asking price of something like a Zeiss Ikon Contax IIIa, or perhaps a Leica M3, and a Kodak Retina seems like a bargain.
I know plenty of people would argue with me, but despite its limitations in terms of replaceable lenses, I think a Kodak Retina IIIC is objectively as good, as well-engineered (if not better), and as high quality a camera as either the Contax or the Leica — it just lacks the buzz factor. A Retina IIIC is also objectively much easier to service.
The 26 year long run (World War II notwithstanding) of folding Kodak Retinas included over two dozen separate models and sub-types, some far more interesting than others. In my mind, they split-up into roughly three groups. Note that the Number (Nummer or Nr.), Type and Version (Ausfürhrung or Ausf.) designations are not things used at the time to market these cameras; the information has been unearthed by researchers and collectors in the time since.
In any case, the three groups in my mind are:
- Pre-War (1934 to 1941)
Includes Retina Nrs. 117 and 118; Retina I Nrs. 119, 126, 141, 143, 148, 149, and 167; Retina II Nr. 142; and, Retina IIa Nr. 150. - Post-War with Bevel-Front Door (1945 to 1953)
Includes Retina I Types 010 and 013; Retina Ia Type 015; Retina II Types 011 and 014; and, Retina IIa Type 016. - Post-War with Curved-Front Door (1954 to 1960)
Includes Retina Ib Type 018; Retina IB Type 019 Ausf. I and II; Retina IIc Type 020; Retina IIIc Type 021 Ausf. I and II; Retina IIc Type 029; and, Retina IIIC Type 028.
That’s quite a list, and while I’ve checked it twice, it’s entirely possible that I even missed one in there somewhere. In any case, it’s quite a range. A key thing to know is that all Retina (plain) and Retina I cameras are viewfinder models — including the 117 I’m reviewing here — while all Retina II and Retina III cameras are rangefinder models.
The pre-war cameras, like the earlier post-war models, had a bevel-front door and a beveled corner body (the later post-war models are rounded and have a curved-front door design), resulting in two primary form factors across the family, although that’s a pretty coarse grouping; there were actually many differences along the way in height, top housing design, and so forth.
But, back to the Nr. 117. At nearly 90 years of age, finding a good 117 is a bit of a struggle. There are plenty of really poor examples on eBay, not to mention grossly overpriced good examples. After looking for one for months, I began to wonder just when I might find a worthy example at a price I was willing to pay.
My folding Retina journey wouldn’t have been possible without Retina expert Paul Barden, who I discussed in the IIc review I mentioned earlier, as well as in a general article about camera repair. (You can find his contact info in the Vendor Directory.) Every single one of the Retinas in my collection, all 24 of them as of this writing, have crossed Paul’s workbench — either as cameras I purchased and sent to him for repair, or as cameras he has sourced, restored, and offered for sale. My Nr. 117 falls into the latter category; he found the camera with the intent to restore and sell it. He also knew I was looking for one, and mentioned it to me — it was a no-brainer to reserve the camera sight-unseen, as Paul’s taste and judgement in these cameras is well-proven to me at this point. And while I’ve learned a lot from him over the months in what to look (and look out) for, I trust his judgment more than my own.
The camera turned-out to be better than even Paul expected. In physically museum-grade condition, and provided with its original leather carrying case, the camera initially appeared to have some balsam separation in the rear lens group, but that turned-out to be a really, really grubby lens that cleaned-up with effort. The camera also needed a part to restore the full functionality of its B (bulb) and T (time) shutter positions. But apart from that, it turned-out to be a very rare and unusual find indeed.
The carrying case needed some restoration work itself, but I’ve been undertaking that sort of work myself in recent months, and restitching its top and closure tab, as well as replacing its strap, were well within my capabilities.
To be honest, I consider myself outlandishly lucky to secure this camera.
The Camera
While the Retina line seems better known for its rangefinders, the first of the series — the Nr. 117 — was (as detailed above) merely a viewfinder camera. For the uninitiated, that means that the viewfinder itself is little more than a telescope or sighting scope that serves one purpose: To approximate the boundaries of what part of what you see in front of you will make it to the film frame. Focusing is completely decoupled from the viewfinder, meaning that you must measure (or carefully estimate) the distance from your camera to your subject (if it’s anything remotely close to you), and then dial that onto the focusing scale. Alternatively, you can use zone focusing — something I explained in great detail in this article.
Distance estimation or zone focusing takes some getting used to if you’ve not done it before, and it is a bit prone to error — especially with this camera. My understanding is that the Nr. 117 was made for various export markets including the USA, but my particular example would appear to have been made for the German market. As such, the focus ring is scaled in meters. Additionally, the circular slide rule on the bottom of the camera for calculating depth-of-field is in German.
As someone living in the last major country on Earth not to adopt the metric system (that would be the United States), it’s always a bit jarring using a camera with a meter-based focusing scale, but the 117 is neither the first, nor I’m sure the last. Knowing that 1 meter is roughly 3 feet helps, but especially with longer distances (e.g., 15 meters, 25 meters, etc.), it can take additional brain damage (or a conversion calculator) to really make things register.
Knowing that depth-of-field is narrower the closer the subject is to the lens, as well as how open the aperture is, all of this becomes more critical when close to your subject. I sometimes use a tape measure, and in fact I often do if my subject is less than 10 to 15 feet from the camera. It simply comes with the viewfinder camera territory.
As for the metric measurements? Well, like anything, practice helps. I’m sure that over time, meters will sink into my non-metric brain, given how many Retinas I now own that are metric (as well as my Exakta for that matter).
Aesthetics
The Nr. 117 is not entirely different from other pre-war models, at least not at first glance. The main distinguishing characteristics are the black lacquer painted top housing, as well as a small film release knob, adjacent to the film advance knob. While other pre-war models may have the black lacquer paint, the 117 is the only model equipped with the film release knob.
Both the 117 and 118 have fairly large knurled film advance and rewind knobs. Beginning with the 119, the knobs shrink in size, and the top housing and what appears on and within it evolves.
What starts with the 117 and remains the same for many models across many years is the basic body design with its beveled front door, and beveled body corners. While the pre-war models have what I refer to as a “kickstand” on that door, the basic aesthetic lasted a very long time indeed.
The 117 has a a diecast aluminum alloy body, and sports lovely nickel-plated hardware that — along with the black lacquer finish and black, real leather body panel covers — makes for a remarkably handsome and exceptionally compact camera, even by today’s standards.
Operation
Opening-up the camera to use it is simple; a small button on the bottom of the camera releases the door (see the picture of the bottom above), which is then pulled into its locked, full open position for use. Once usage is done, the camera must first be focused to infinity — very important, and true of all the folding Retinas — after which two small release buttons, top and bottom, are pressed to unlock the mechanism, and allow the door to be closed. If the door is forced closed without focusing to infinity, it’s fairly easy to damage the camera; if you own one, never force the door closed. If there’s resistance, you haven’t returned the focus knob to the infinity position.
Note that no lens cap is used; the door serves that purpose, although it’s by no means a tight, dust-proof seal.
The front end of the 117 is not really that different from that of any of the pre-war Retinas. It’s equipped with either a Compur or Compur-Rapid shutter, the latter having a faster 1/500th of second top shutter speed, and the former being limited to 1/300th.
As for the lens, the 117 was fitted with either a Schneider-Kreuznach Xenar f/3.5 lens, or a Kodak-Anastigmat f/3.5 lens — both 50mm (although they were marked as 5cm). Both of them are 4 element, 3 group Tessar designs.
Like other early Retinas, it can be a little strange at first setting the aperture and shutter speed, primarily because everything is relatively small. There are dual scales for aperture, one on the top, and one on the photographer’s left side of the lens body (shown in the photo above), and a very hard-to-see pointer shows the setting. Adjusting it is done with a very small knob, more of a slight protrusion actually, on the bottom of the lens body. The smallest aperture is f/16.
Shutter speed is changed by rotating a dial on the front of the lens and shutter assembly. Given the Compur shutter on my particular camera, shutter speeds are T (time), B (bulb), 1 second, and 1/2, 1/5, 1/10, 1/25, 1/50, 1/100 and 1/300 of a second. The non-standard shutter speeds are de rigueur for cameras of this era; if you’re using a handheld exposure meter, just round the figures (e.g., use 1/100 for 1/125, 1/300 for 1/250, etc.); they are close enough for virtually any normal shooting conditions.
Between the limited speed of the shutter, and the limited small aperture, this is not a camera well-suited to daylight shots with modern fast films. To me, anyway, keeping your film selection to ISO 100 or slower is a relatively prudent idea. Alternatively, a neutral density filter — if you can find them — or for black and white films, some sort of contrast filter (e.g., yellow, orange, red) would help provide a stop or two (or three, depending on which filter you use) of leeway for faster films. I’ll talk more about filters in the Accessories section below.
The shutter on the Nr. 117 must be manually cocked using a lever on the photographer’s left side of the lens and shutter housing; it’s pressed toward the bottom of the camera. (Cocking is not required when using T or B for long exposures.) Release is performed either by a lever on the photographer’s upper right, or by using the plunger on the photographer’s upper left. The plunger was a standard accessory on all of the pre-war Retina models based on what I’ve been told, but it’s very often gone missing over the intervening decades.
Shutter release on all the pre-war Retinas I own is best described as a “hair trigger.” By that, I mean you could practically breathe on the release and it’ll trip the shutter. Don’t think you can rest your fingertip on the plunger or release lever; you can’t. Keep your finger completely away while composing your shot, or you will take a photo when you don’t want to. Even after using these cameras for awhile now, I still do it occasionally.
Advancing the film on a 117 is unlike other Retinas. As mentioned earlier, there’s a small film release knob, a clutch really, adjacent to the advance knob. Once you have taken a picture, that small knob is turned clockwise just about one quarter turn; the film counter on the photographer’s top left of the housing will increment at the same time. This also unlocks the advance knob; turn it anti-clockwise until it stops, and you’re ready for the next frame.
It’s important to note that with the Nr. 117, there is no double-exposure prevention; like using my Duaflex II, I’ve had to get used to making sure I advance dutifully after each exposure. Because the shutter is not cocked with the film advance, however, no shutter speeds are inhibited by doing so, as on the Rolleiflex Automat MX (among other cameras).
Once the roll is exhausted, a tab on the advance knob is moved until an “R” shows in its small window. (An “A” will show there when set for normal operation.) Once in the “R” position, the rewind knob can be rotated clockwise until the film is fully rewound into its cassette.
In later cameras, starting with the 118, the release knob was replaced by a small lever on the rear of the top housing. And starting with the 119, the A/R tab was moved to a small lever on the rear of the top housing as well. Operationally, the purpose of them all is the same, it’s just a change in design approach.
The Experience
Using the Kodak Retina Nr. 117 has been an absolute joy, although a stressful one. The primary reason? My particular example of this camera has some slight paint loss and a small “Zeiss bump” on the rear door, but is otherwise basically a museum-quality example, and I’m terrified to drop it or damage it. But, I didn’t buy this camera (or any of my other cameras) to sit on a shelf, and I’m determined to keep this camera in loving, gentle use.
There is not, frankly, much to say about using this camera. The early Kodak Retinas are not complicated in any way, it’s just a series of steps that are a bit of a throwback; manually cocking a shutter, for example. And it goes without saying that a handheld exposure meter, metering app, or the “Sunny 16” method must be employed to know where and how to set the camera’s aperture and shutter speed properly.
I like that this model, as many of the early Retinas do, has both a T and B shutter position. Most cameras, especially later ones, have only the B (bulb) setting, where a cable release is pressed to open the shutter, and which remains open for as long as you maintain pressure on the cable. The T (time) setting is basically press open, press closed; the first press of the cable release (or the shutter lever on the camera) opens the shutter, and a second press closes it. I’ve come to really like the T setting on my old cameras that have them (and when it still works, which sometimes it no longer does), and it’s common to my large format camera lenses as well.
There’s nothing particularly sophisticated about this camera. It’s an instrument for taking photographs on 35mm film, and you need to understand how to properly use that instrument. If you do, the camera does what you expect of it, and it does it well. Other than the fact it’s missing a lot of niceties we take for granted these days, it’s hard to believe that this camera is nearly 90 years old.
True, its lenses are not coated, and the lens design is neither complex, nor computer-optimized and perfected. But it’s easy to use, and it’s amazing to me that despite its age, it’s as relevant, usable, enjoyable, compact, and capable as it ever was.
The main thing that took some getting used to is that film release knob that is unique to this specific model of Retina. (Refer to the photo earlier in this article.) Since I have been unable to locate any sort of owner’s manual for the 117, I researched its use online, and the instructions were quite vague. I ended-up winding the release knob excessively, and pulling a bunch of excess film out of the cassette, which then had to be taken-up by the advance knob. My first few shots are quite unevenly spaced, with wide gaps, as a result. As I said earlier, that small knob is simply turned about one-quarter of a turn clockwise after your shot. You’ll hear a very light clicking sound as the film counter advances, and that’s all you need to do — just wind the film advance knob until it stops. No muss, no fuss.
Because of the design of the mechanism, the frame spacing on the resulting film can be a bit irregular. If you over-turn the small release knob, you’ll get wide spacing, and if you don’t turn it enough, the frames can in fact rub right up against each other. Don’t expect modern camera precise frame spacing regardless.
The Accessories
Because I have not located an owner’s manual for the 117, nor do I possess any sort of vintage sales materials for the camera, I can’t speak to any accessories that may have been available at the time.
My camera was provided with what appears to be an original leather case. It’s what I’d refer to as a purse-style case, meaning the camera goes fully into the body of the case, and must be removed entirely before use. Contrast that with “ever ready” cases that physically attaches to the camera body, and are more common with the Retinas.
In any event, I strongly believe that this case is original to the 117. All the folding Retinas had their back door leather (or later, plastic “leatherette”) embossed with the name “Retina” with some models also being embossed with “Made in Germany.” Most Retinas are stamped with a dramatic script typeface that has a sweeping capital “R” — starting with the Nr. 118 camera that proceeded this one.
The 117, on the other hand, was the only one embossed with a simple bold serifed typeface; Bodoni or something quite similar to it. The embossing on the case (see the previous image earlier in this article) is identical to that on the camera, which is pretty clear evidence of its originality in my mind.
The strap had been poorly replaced at some point in its life, swapped out with a non-matching, non-adjustable leather strap that was merely riveted to the case body. I set about restoring the case, including redoing much of its saddle stitching, and removing and discarding the strap. I could see evidence of the stitching of the original strap, and will soon be fashioning a replacement.
While my case was made in Germany, Kodak in the USA made a nice generic field case for the bevel-front Retinas that also fits the 117 nicely. All the examples of these cases that I’ve seen appear to be post-war, and there’s a screw in their base that secures to the tripod mounts of the cameras. The 117 is likely to be carried out in that case, rather than its original, simply for safer keeping.
Beyond the case, filters were available for the Retinas — if not for the 117 specifically, then no doubt at some point soon after. The entire folding Retina family, from the Nr. 117 all the way to the IIIC (Type 028), use one of two basic lens sizes. Technically, it’s no doubt much more to do with the shutter opening, but regardless, the two can be segregated by their sizes, which are broadly either 27 or 32. These are actually the outside diameters of the lens bodies in millimeters. The Nr. 117 used the smaller of the two, the 27.
Kodak confusingly referred to these two numbers with the screw-on filters that came out of Kodak AG in Germany. The nomenclature is an N or an F (depending on the age), followed by a Roman numeral indicating the color, a slash, and the size number — either 27, or 32. Medium yellow is a “II” filter, so an NII/27 or FII/27 filter is medium yellow for the Retinas with a threaded, size 27 lens. Many of the sample images for this review were shot with this very filter.
I say “confusingly” because the thread size is 21.5mm. So while these filters have that thread size, it’s not noted anywhere on the filter itself.
As a brief aside, you can find out more about these filters in my review of the Retina IIc. I include an entire table devoted to listing the various ones.
In the USA, Kodak seemed to prefer its own “Series” system for filters, which consists of an adapter that is lens-specific, and drop-in filter capsules that are not threaded. For my 117 — and any of the small-lens (size 27) Retina cameras with threaded filter mounts — you’ll need a No. 21 adapter ring for Series V (a/k/a Series 5) filters.
Kodak made a number of press-on adapters as well, and there is in fact a 27mm (1-1/16″) press-on adapter that fits the 117. However, I found it to be an insecure fit; the threaded No. 21 adapter is a much smarter choice.
The entire Series system is actually fairly clever. Each adapter is supplied with a retainer ring. The adapter, whether screw-in or press-on, is mounted to the lens. A filter (or an auxiliary lens, as the case may be) is dropped into the space within the adapter, and the retaining ring is then screwed into place. You can also opt to put the retainer ring aside, and instead secure the filter with a Series lens hood, which you’ll see in the photos below.
While I don’t know about the 117 specifically since I’ve never seen one with such a lens, some of the Retina cameras were equipped with Kodak-Anastigmat lenses that did not have filter threads. The press-on type adapter is a great choice for such cameras.
In any case, the wide array of contrast filters, close-up auxiliary lenses and other Series V drop-ins available for these adapters — all fairly common on eBay and similar sites — bring a lot of utility to the 117, particularly if you shoot black and white.
I don’t possess one, but apparently there are adapters or accessory spacers that allow you “stack” more than one filter at a time, useful if you wanted to use two auxiliary close-up lenses together for more magnification. Additionally, there are step-up rings available that (for example) allow you to use the larger diameter Series VI filters with the smaller Series V adapter.
The modularity of the Series system is a plus, and as I put the finishing touches on this article, I continue to amass a collection of adapters, filters, close-up auxiliary lenses, and other Series-related accessories (like the lens hood).
Do note, however, that time has not always been kind to these filters. The Kodak Pola-Screen, a polarizing filter, is commonly found but almost none have survived well due to the materials used in manufacture. It’s also not uncommon to find color contrast filters (red, yellow, green, etc.) where the filter itself is irreparably cloudy or hazy, usually in a loose round pattern in the middle of the filter itself — seemingly especially a problem in the yellow filters, like the very common Wratten K2.
The Results
I don’t normally write reviews after a single roll of film, but at this point, I’ve used enough Retinas in general, and enough pre-war Retinas specifically, to think I have a pretty good grasp on the function and peculiarities of this camera.
This was also my first roll of Orwo UN54, purchased pre-rolled from Film Photography Project, and processed in Kodak HC-110 Dilution H for 7:30. This film is also available in bulk rolls for home cassette reloading, which is why I wanted to evaluate it. But, I think for 35mm, I prefer Ilford Delta 100, and will continue to favor choosing it.
In any case, here are some of my favorites from the roll, and I’ll expand this review at a later time with more examples taken with it. In particular, I’d like to shoot some color film in this camera to see what (if any) effect the optics might have in the form of things like chromatic aberrations and so on.
I hope you’ll agree, for a 90 year old compact 35mm camera, this Kodak Retina Nr. 117 does a pretty amazing job. (And the Orwo film isn’t bad either, it just has a more pronounced grain than I get from Delta 100.)
This next shot was a technical experiment; it wasn’t for aesthetics. I wanted to test the use of a vintage Ednalite +1 close-up auxiliary lens, provided in Series V drop-in form, with my No. 21 adapter, as mentioned previously. It required bringing-out the tape measure and doing some math to figure-out how to translate the diopter increase into a focusing scale distance and subject distance, but it did, in fact, work nicely.
Footnotes
* The serviceability (repairability) of vintage cameras is a key consideration. Many are either expensive, or impossible to keep running. I discuss some of the general issues in this article. Something to know about the Retina cameras I discuss in this article is that all of them have a leaf shutter — not a focal plane shutter as is more common in modern cameras. As such, they require servicing periodically in order to maintain correct and accurate operation. The Compur shutters in Retina cameras like these rarely need more than a proper, expert cleaning and adjustment, but it is highly unlikely you will find any Retina on the used market that doesn’t need a professional servicing, unless you’re buying it from a photographer who actively used it and has already had the camera serviced (and can prove it). As mentioned in the article, Retina expert Paul Barden services all my Retina cameras. Refer to the mentions in the article for details on how to reach him.
Update: December 31, 2021
Edited some content to reflect updated feelings about the Retina Reflex.
