My film camera collection has grown through various approaches. Sometimes it’s lusting after a specific model, and waiting patiently for the perfect example to come-up for sale. Sometimes it’s been seeing something on the shelf of one of my two local brick-and-mortar camera shops, and having it capture my imagination. Other times it’s been seeing a derelict camera in an auction listing and thinking I can restore it myself (often successfully). And still other times it’s been discovering something in an auction lot I wasn’t expecting, and being pleasantly surprised. But no matter how the cameras make their way to me, not all of them work properly, and not all are good candidates for subjecting to my rapidly growing but still amateur-level knowledge of camera repair. That’s where sending a camera to a professional comes into play, and I’ve learned — and continue to learn — a great deal about that exercise. This article captures some of the insights I’ve gleaned from years of sending my film cameras off for some TLC, and the obscene amount of money I’ve spent in the process.
The Most Important Advice
If I have to give just one nugget of advice to those who need to have a film camera repaired, it would be this:
Manage your expectations.
I think most people seeking repairs on something, whether a car or a washing machine or a film camera, expect to find and hire an expert to do the work, and expect that the expert to know everything there is to be known, and has the necessary super powers to execute whatever is needed to get the item back to full working order. Unfortunately, that’s very rarely the situation with film cameras, for at least two reasons.
Reason One: Availability of Expertise
The heyday of film photography, in my mind anyway, was a roughly 50 year period starting immediately after World War II, and extending through 1990s. Maybe you prefer to see it as a 75 year period starting around 1930 and extending to 2005 — a year when it had finally become pretty difficult to sell a film camera. But the point really is that even if a camera technician was a young 30 years old in 1990 when new film cameras were still a “thing,” that means that today, that technician is at or near typical retirement age.
But that’s a best case scenario; the web site of one camera technician I’ve used states that he’s been repairing cameras since 1969. For the sake of argument, let’s say he was just a mere 18 years old then. That means that as I write this article, he is today at least 70 years old. But that gentleman is not an exception; most camera technicians have been at this game for a very long time, and a very great many of them have already retired, or are no longer with us.
That’s left us with limited choices. Where once you could take pretty much any camera to a local camera repair shop and have it serviced, today, local repair availability of any kind is a rarity. And the specialized knowledge required to properly service many of the cameras we use often requires sending cameras across the country, or even around the world, to get the needed expertise and parts access. I’ve sent cameras to Oregon, New York, Texas, Nevada and Tennessee. I’ve sent cameras to New Zealand and to Germany. The simple fact is that the availability of expertise has greatly diminished, and continues to do so.
Reason Two: Availability of Parts
The second reason you need to manage your expectations comes down to the simple fact that with very few and very limited exceptions, parts for mainstream film cameras are no longer made — and haven’t been for a very long time indeed.
The parts that exist to repair your film camera come from two sources: new old stock, and recycled. New old stock parts are those sitting in the inventories of camera techs who’ve been at this game long enough to have purchased them new, or to have acquired inventories of parts from other technicians closing-up shop. Recycled parts are those harvested from donor cameras that have been deemed irreparable.
The problem is that the parts that end-up wearing-out or simply breaking are quite often the same among specific camera models. That means that what new old stock inventory exists is being steadily consumed as these cameras age and break, and it also means that harvesting parts from donor cameras may not be possible because the reason they’re donors is that their key parts have already failed as well.
What Managing Expectations Means
So what does it mean to “manage one’s expectations,” anyway? In my mind, it translates into six distinct areas.
Your camera may be irreparable.
It may not be economically feasible to repair.
It may take multiple attempts.
It may cost a lot.
It may take a long time.
And, the tech may not communicate well.
1. Your camera may simply be irreparable
I’ve not personally experienced this, but it’s entirely possible that if you have a broken camera, it simply cannot be repaired. That may be because the expertise to do the job doesn’t exist any longer (or you haven’t found it yet), and or it could be that the parts simply don’t exist.
The more common, the more popular or the more valuable your camera, the better the chances are that you won’t run into this, but like anything, a camera can simply be so worn out, that there’s no saving it. It’d be heartbreaking to be told that your Hasselblad investment has been deemed irreparable junk, but in truth, that’s the risk of this hobby.
My only advice here is don’t give-up easily. Find another competent technician who specializes in your camera, and see if a second opinion provides a different result. Perhaps a different tech will see things in a different light, or be better able to creatively deal with the issues present in the camera.
2. It may not be “economically feasible” to repair your camera
I’ve heard this line a few times at this point with respect to my cameras, and I find it to be one of the most frustrating things a camera tech can say to me. I recognize that what I’m about to say is a bit cynical. But with all due respect to the camera techs I’ve worked with, I find this line to be a bit of a catch-all excuse. I believe that there are at least three possible underlying reasons why a camera tech actually uses this phrase:
- They don’t want to do the work.
If a tech doesn’t want to do the job, or maybe feels like it’s more effort than it’s worth, they should just say that straight-up. But I suppose the “economically feasible” line makes for a simpler, kinder way to let a customer down. - They don’t have the parts, and don’t want to find them.
If parts are unavailable or hard to come by, I think that’s a worthy explanation on its own. Searching for some obscure part, or trying to find and acquire a suitable donor camera are time-consuming activities, the expense for which cannot be easily recouped. - If you don’t pay the bill, they’re stuck with the goods.
My personal hunch is that the main reason that camera techs use the “not economically feasible” line is that if they proceed to invest (for example) US$200 worth of their labor into a camera that’s worth only US$40, and you decide not to pay the bill, there’s no way to recoup their loss. A tech’s backstop for non-payment is always to sell your camera to fund your unpaid bill — which they’re legally entitled to do after given time period in most jurisdictions. But if they can’t recoup their costs, why would they take the risk? If this is the real reason a tech uses the “not economically feasible” line, then I wish more of them would simply require a non-refundable deposit against the work vs. declining it outright. Many people, for instance, simply want a camera repaired because it’s a family heirloom, not because it makes economic sense, and in those case, surely there’s some way to make it work for everyone involved without making excuses.
Whatever the truth of the line might be, brace yourself to hear it.
3. Getting something going may take more than one attempt
Film cameras are mechanical devices. Newer ones became increasingly electronic; older ones have more in common with a 19th century pocket watch. But they are nevertheless mechanical, and sometimes, as anyone who owns a car knows, mechanical things don’t always want to cooperate with attempts to repair them. To wit:
- It took a couple of trips to the tech before my Mamiya Press Super 23 was fully working. An area that wouldn’t logically be checked with a CLA was naturally left unchecked, but alas, a problem arose in that area that required a second trip to the tech.
- One of my cherished Kodak Retina cameras took two tries as well. It left the workshop having tested properly, but a nit issue remained when it got in my hands. A second trip got it fully resolved.
- My lovely Asahi Pentax S1a is, as I write this article, just back home from its second trip to a tech as well. Deteriorating mirror damper foam had spread gooey crumbs inside the body, which made a pin inside the body sticky, and the film advance unreliable as a result. The tech thought he’d gotten it resolved initially, but it cropped back up on the first roll of film. Back it went.
- My Ihagee Exakta Varex IIa is, as I write this article, on the bench of the third camera technician in a row. I’ve owned the camera for nearly a year and a half, and so far, have managed to shoot three rolls of film through it because it’s spent most of its time in repair queues. I’ve shot it enough to know I love the camera, and I’ll do whatever I can to save it — including spending stupid amounts of money (and months waiting) trying.
If you truly love your camera, be prepared for the possibility that things won’t work out well on the first attempt. It takes patience when these setbacks happen, but I just look at it as an opportunity to go shoot something else for a little while. Competent, honest camera techs will stand behind their work, but give them the space and time to do so.
4. Your repair may cost (way) more than you think
Prepare yourself for sticker shock. There are a few retired camera techs who do what they do because they genuinely love the work, and they’re not trying to make a living out of doing it. (Or so it seems from the prices they charge.) These people may be a bit of a bargain, and while that’s great for us, such techs are not the norm. Many of them are still trying to make a living — it’s their day job — and their time is money. Even a basic CLA (clean, lubricate, adjust) on the simplest of cameras is rarely just an hour’s labor. If the camera in question has a leaf shutter, I know from experience that fully disassembling a shutter down to and including the shutter blades is a tedious, challenging, time-consuming task for even an experienced tech. And the more complex the camera, the more involved things are, the more time that will be required, and the more it will cost.
I’ve spent hundreds of dollars on cameras worth a fraction of the repair spend, and have done so more than once. As a result, I’m familiar with the sticker shock. I may not love spending the money, but I do love getting a unique camera that I love to shoot back into working condition, so I accept repair costs as part of the film photography hobby. If your tolerance for these costs is lower than mine, perhaps film photography isn’t your thing. Truly, it’s rather like owning a classic car (or an entire collection of them); keeping them running can dwarf the original cost of acquisition.
5. Your repair may take a long time
Most camera techs worth their salt will undoubtedly have a work queue or backlog. (I should, however, point out the relationship between a having a backlog and the quality of a tech’s work isn’t necessarily so simple; even great camera techs don’t always have long backlogs, and techs with backlogs aren’t always good at what they do, either.)
But regardless, turnaround times can often be lengthy. One technician in the midwest that I’ve spoken to on multiple occasions often has a backlog stretching into six months or longer. The longest I’ve personally waited for any tech to turn a job is nearly three months; sometimes it’s been a week or so and I’ve considered myself lucky.
The point here is that waiting periods do tend to come with the territory, and it speaks to what I opened with: The availability of expertise is a pinch point in the process. Be patient.
6. Your tech may be a lousy communicator
Again, all due respect to the camera techs out there, but not all of them are great or proactive communicators. One fairly well-known technician has a reputation for doing good work, but also for requiring persistence to get any information or status information. For some, English is not their mother tongue, and they may find it easier to speak to you vs. respond to your email messages. Others refuse to take calls, and will only accept email. In one recent case, the tech doesn’t speak English at all, and all communication is done via email using Google Translate. Still others come across as terse, gruff, or impatient. And once in awhile, you run into a great conversationalist who’s proactive, and customer-centric — but that’s an exception, not the rule.
While it can be frustrating to go for long periods hearing nothing from your tech, and it can be tiresome to have to follow-up proactively yourself, for me, this just comes with the territory. Wouldn’t we all rather have these techs spending more time fixing cameras, and less time engaging in high-touch conversations with customers? I certainly would.
My advice here is just be patient. Check-in when you need to, but try not to be a pain in the butt in the process. Being a pest isn’t going to get your camera moved to the front of the line, and it’s not going to make them work any faster. Ask at the very beginning what their backlog is at the moment so you can at least be prepared for the turnaround time.
The Second Most Important Advice
If I have to give just one more nugget of advice to those who need to have a film camera repaired, it would be this:
Do your homework.
Managing one’s expectations may be challenging, but this piece of advice is equally so. I personally believe that there are relatively few camera technicians out there that are intentionally trying to deceive people or soak them for cash. But as with any other area of life, there are indeed some bad players in the world of camera repair. Your only real defense is talking to as many people as possible before making a choice. You can certainly talk to people directly, but the internet is host to a lot of commentary you can go looking for — not all of it reliable.
I use a combination of techniques. I ask friends and acquaintances who shoot film if they know of good techs for a specific camera. I ask them about their own experiences. I search the Photrio forums. I do general web searches. I look for Yelp or Google reviews where they exist. I also take what I find with a grain of salt, and I recommend you do likewise.
Online reviews tend to be very polarized; most people won’t say anything unless asked, and most people who do post online reviews are either ranting or raving at the extremes. But if there’s an overwhelmingly negative tide of commentary about a camera tech or camera shop, I tend to listen. Not everyone’s going to have a great experience — but if nearly everyone is having a bad one, well… It’s food for thought.
A Closing Thought: Be Nice to Your Tech
It’s been my experience that if you’ve actually done your homework when choosing a camera technician, the likelihood of working with someone who’s out to screw you is quite remote.
But here’s the thing: There are so few good technicians left, and with the increasing interest in film photography, they’re mostly inundated with work. They may not be ideally responsive; you may have to wait longer than you think is appropriate for a response to an email message. Some (or most) may not be the world’s best and most proactive communicators in general. But a little patience, a bit of grace, and just being a decent human being goes a long way toward achieving a satisfactory result.
Happy shooting, and may your repair journeys be… tolerable.
