Do you remember your first real film camera? Do you still have it? I do — and I still have mine. That camera? The Minolta XG 1, introduced in 1979, and later (in 1982) very subtly renamed (with a hyphen) as the XG-1, at which time it also received Minolta’s updated, so-called “rising sun” logo. I’ve been writing content here for years, and somehow or another, despite it being my first decent camera, I’ve overlooked writing a formal review of it despite mentioning it in other articles and reviews dozens of times. After the camera received a CLA recently, its first servicing in the 43 years I’ve owned it, I was reminded how much I love the camera, and love using it — and it was about time I shared both its story, and my feelings about it.
The Back Story
As a kid who grew-up in a pretty humble setting — let’s call it what it was, which was “low income” — I didn’t have that much early in life. My parents were very young (barely out of their teens when I was born), and with little education, job opportunities were limited for my dad, while my stay-at-home mom did the best she could with very little. Eventually, my father landed on a job as a salesman that lent enough stability that later on, things weren’t quite so tough. But those early years left an indelible impression on me in terms of my views of (and relationships toward) material objects, something that persists to this day. That probably explains both why I still have my XG 1, and why it means so much to me. But I’m getting ahead of myself here.
My very first camera was one I also still have and still treasure, a Kodak Duaflex II — a simple box camera that takes 620 film. Periodically, I’ll re-roll some 120 film onto a 620 spool and take it out, reliving some of my earliest photographic memories. The camera was bought for me by my maternal grandmother (at a garage sale). I loved it then, and I still do.
My second camera was a Polaroid Square Shooter 2 from the early 1970s, which I bought myself at a neighbor’s garage sale. It took Polaroid 88 pack film, the peel-away type. Even when I bought it in the late 1970s, the 88 pack film was hard to find, and not cheap. I never really bonded much with it, and while I don’t remember getting expressly rid of it, it has somehow been lost, somewhere along the way.
But it was my third that I consider to be my first “true” camera. I’d signed-up for high school photography class, for which I needed a 35mm camera of some sort to participate, as that’s what the school’s darkroom was equipped to deal with. Granted my mom’s permission, I drained a small savings account that a relative had set-up for me years prior, and trekked off to the Gart Brother’s Sporting Goods store, which was located in the Villa Italia Mall not far from home. I don’t remember the details of how I ended-up with the Minolta XG 1 specifically; I’m quite certain I didn’t do any homework or research in a photography magazine, or anything else that would inform the decision. No doubt, a salesperson at Gart’s steered me to what they thought might make a good student camera within my budget (while also no doubt yielding the best sales commission for themselves). However it came to be, I left the store with a brand new XG 1, a run-of-the-mill Minolta MD Rokkor-X 50mm f/1.7 lens, an XG soft case, and a generic leather neck strap. Afterward, and for the remainder of my high school years, that camera tagged along everywhere I went.
In school, of course, we shot black-and-white film, and the choices were always between Kodak Plus-X, and Kodak Tri-X. I shot a lot of both, judging from my examination of the rebates on the edges of the negatives from back then, which were dutifully placed in Print File sleeves (the very same kind I use to this day) and then into a three-ring binder that I’ve somehow managed to keep intact all these years. Outside of photography class, I experimented with E-6 kits, shooting Ektachrome with my trusty XG 1, and then processing it at home, using the family bath tub as a tempering bath (which accounts for the marginal results I often got back then). Not only did I have trouble with my E-6 processing, but my black-and-white negatives were pretty inconsistent as well; several of my Print File sleeves and associated 8×10 contact prints (required for class) still have the notes of my photography teacher, commenting on what I’d likely done wrong to make them so dense (or thin).
But regardless of the technical quality of my work back then, the XG 1 was at my side through some of the most difficult times of my life — as well as some of the best. Admittedly, it didn’t get as much use as it should have after high school, and in the mid-1990s, it was largely supplanted by the purchase of a Canon EOS Rebel G, which gave me something I’d never had with my Minolta: a zoom lens, and the ability to bring distant objects in closer, instead of getting lost in the typical 50mm frame of my f/1.7 Rokkor-X.
The most amusing part of this story is the fact that I detest the Rebel G; it’s the only camera I own that I genuinely, passionately dislike, and have no interest whosoever in shooting ever again. It was “just OK” even when new, but when I pick it up today, it’s just an awful camera to use, and doesn’t even produce particularly good quality photographs. I honestly believe that the Minolta XG 1 is a better camera with better lens options, and now that I’ve acquired a number of vintage Minolta lenses that allow me to use the camera to shoot wide, to shoot long, and to shoot everywhere in between, there’s even less of a reason to use that annoying Rebel G.
Since getting back into film, I’ve used the XG 1 periodically without trouble. But in February 2022, I loaded the XG 1 with film, only to discover that the battery check light had stopped working — even with fresh batteries. Considering it’s actually an LED, not a lamp, I worried that the electronics in the XG 1 might be failing me. I put the camera aside, not wanting to think about it.
Fast forward to July 2023, when I was, in a moment of nostalgia, compelled to look again. Nope; the battery check didn’t magically start working again. But what had changed was that I’d just had a Pentax ME Super repaired and CLA’ed by Garry Airapetov of Garry’s Camera Service near Chicago. Another Pentax tech had deemed my ME Super as unrepairable, since he believed it needed a new main board, and none existed anymore. It worked, mostly, but the meter was wildly inaccurate, and my own attempts to open it up and adjust it through my usual observational technique failed. After my friend Cameron Shaw raved about his ME Supers, I decided to revisit the issues, and try to find someone who maybe could get it working properly. That someone was Garry. He did fix it, and he did so in less than a week, door-to-door (impressively).
The list of cameras Garry works on is limited, but the Minolta XG series is among them. I sent the XG 1 off to him, and once again, in about a week, the camera was back on my doorstep, looking and operating as good as new. The battery check light was functioning again, and while it’s subjective, it felt like the camera operated more smoothly and more crisply than I can recall it doing in years.
In short, my buddy was back, and at 43 years of age, was looking and feeling quite youthful.
The Camera
With all my waxing poetic in my review to this point, you might well be expecting that my description of the camera itself will describe its wonders with reverence and awe. Not to disappoint anyone, especially other Minolta fans, but that’s just not going to happen. At the end of the day, the Minolta XG 1 is a simple, basic, and in some ways frustratingly limited 35mm SLR. It was bought as a student camera, and that’s truly what it is.
There’s a way to set the film speed. There’s a way to set the shutter speed. And there’s an “A” setting on the speed dial for aperture-priority automatic operation. There’s also a strip of LEDs on the right side of the viewfinder that shows the shutter speed — but only when the camera’s set to the “A” mode. Said another way, the on-board metering only works in “A” mode; if you shoot manual, well, use a handheld meter — or meter first in “A” mode and then set it manually as desired.
Apart from the aforementioned battery check, a self-timer, a cable release port and PC sync port on the side of the lens mount bump-out, and a hot shoe for camera-mounted flashes, it offers you nothing else. There is no depth-of-field preview. No mirror lockup. No other shooting modes. No exposure lock.
The XG 1 uses a common cloth focal plane shutter, delivering a top shutter speed of 1/1000th of a second — fairly typical of SLRs in this class from the same period. On the low end, it goes down to 1 second, plus bulb, and the flash sync speed is the usual 1/60th of a second. Across the board, the XG 1 is pretty typical, and pretty basic.
Perhaps the worst part of the XG 1 was its original leatherette, now long gone from my example. New, it consisted of a resilient foam material with a thin, leather-look outer layer that didn’t stand the test of time; I replaced the leatherette on mine a couple of years ago with a more traditional synthetic leather-look material that’s far more durable than the original. I first tried some red leatherette from Hugo Studio, but the fit was well off the mark, leaving ugly gaps along the edges. Even trying to heat the material to stretch it for a better fit (which was their suggested solution) didn’t yield an acceptable result. A more traditional black material from Morgan at CameraLeather.com was cut from a more accurate template, and provides a perfect fit.
Perhaps the best part of the camera is its compatibility with an incredible collection of amazing lenses that Minolta produced, beginning in 1958. While most people think of the lenses as MD mount, they are considered by purists to be the SR mount, of which the MC and MD series were major variants. Much like the Nikon F mount, Minolta kept adding capabilities to the SR mount over the years, extending its life for decades. But unlike Nikon, Minolta did not attempt to continue the SR mount into the autofocus years for their Maxxum/Dynax/Alpha series, choosing to change mount designs (as did Canon).
In any case, from the original SR lenses, to the MC series of the SR-T cameras, to the MD of later manual focus Minoltas, the lenses that the company produced were among the best to come out of Japan. And while many Minolta fans know this, it seems that many of today’s film photographers don’t, enamored instead of Nikon’s excellent glass, or that of Canon as well. That’s likely because both Nikon and Canon are going concerns, as relevant to photographers today as decades ago. Minolta, on the other hand, is relegated to the history books, not forgotten necessarily, but viewed (if you’ll excuse the bad pun) through a different lens.
For decades, the only lens I had for my XG 1 was the 50mm f/1.7 that came with it, but I’ve since discovered a broader array of options, acquiring several in the past few years. Like any vintage lenses, quality and performance vary. But when in good condition, free of mechanical or optical degradation, even the lower-grade Celtic lenses (Celtic being a Minolta sub-brand of sorts) are quite good. As with any other brand, the highest-regarded lenses are often hard-to-find and expensive. But at least in my experience, you don’t have to have the best-of-the-best to get the most out of your manual focus Minolta SLR, and empirical evidence suggests that as a whole, Minolta lenses tend to be less expensive than comparable manual focus ones from Nikon and others.
New, the camera and its lens set me back just under US$275 in September 1980 money. Adjusted for inflation, using US government data, that’s just a tiny hair under US$1,000 in today’s money (June 2023 is the latest data when I’m writing this) for the body, and its lens. Honestly, that feels like an awful lot of money for what is arguably a pretty basic camera, but it was nevertheless typical of that era.
The Experience
Given the operational simplicity of the XG 1, there’s not really a ton to say about the experience of using it.
Because the on-board meter is designed to work only in aperture-priority (or “A”) mode, as noted previously, that’s traditionally where I’ve always shot it. After turning the camera on, using the meter then consists merely of pointing the camera where you want it, looking through the viewfinder, and resting a fingertip on the shutter release button. Instead of a potentially balky “press down halfway” approach as taken by many SLRs, the Minolta XG 1, like others in the X series, use a capacitive sensor “switch” to turn the meter on. As I said, merely resting a bare fingertip on the top of the button is all that’s required to activate it. I’ve always liked this approach, as it minimizes the accidental firing of the shutter with “press down halfway” cameras — something I do with some regularity on my Nikon F4, among others.
Because the camera does not have an exposure compensation ring for use in tough lighting situations, my technique in these cases over the many years of using the camera has been to simply point it at the part of the scene that has a lighting level I’m most interested in capturing properly, touching the shutter release button in “A” mode, reading the shutter speed, then dialing it manually into the shutter speed dial. This is sort of a poor man’s version of an exposure lock, and while it does involve fussing about with things, it certainly does work.
Obviously, with many lighting situations, just using aperture-priority with no messing about at all generally provides good results; you just have to mindful of the scene, your desired outcome, and the lighting conditions within the scene.
The viewfinder in the XG 1 is of the pretty standard 1980s variety. It has a diagonal split prism “rangefinder” in the center, surrounded by a small ring of microprisms. I’ve never been a fan of the latter, as the former always works better for my eyes.
That’s really about it. There’s nothing else to mess with, nothing else much to think about. It made a great student camera, and it would today as well, but it also makes a great basic SLR in its own right, given the outstanding Minolta glass you can buy for it — including the super sharp f/1.7 50mm that came with mine.
Sure, it’s not particularly sophisticated or feature-rich, but it gets the job done, and it does it well. And as I’ve personally proven, taken good care of (and given proper maintenance once every 40 years so!), it just keeps on going and going — in my case, 43 years and counting.
The Accessories
As a basic, entry-level SLR, the accessories for the XG 1 were limited. The ones mentioned specifically in the owner’s manual include:
- Auto Winder G
This simple motorized winder attaches to the bottom plate of the XG 1, and advances the film automatically with each shot. This winder has no grip (as is the case with the one for Minolta’s X-700), so for me, it merely adds a lot of weight with little practical benefit, given the quick action of the manual advance on the camera. - X-Series Auto Electroflashes
Minolta made a number of speedlights for the XG cameras, including the 118X, 132X, 200X, and 320X. I have, and have used, the 320X with my XG 1. It probably goes without saying, but the XG 1 does not provide TTL flash metering; the 320X in particular, however, makes the process easy with a circular slide rule to set film speed and distance, then read the appropriate aperture value for the camera. - Remote Cords S and L
These are both simple remote control cords in short and long lengths.
The Results
As with any camera with a removable lens, the results you get are predominantly dictated by the lens you’re using. Obviously we humans compose the images we take, and we decide how to set the exposure parameters — or whether to let the camera do it. And of course, the camera has to function properly to deliver on the chosen settings. But beyond that? It’s the lenses.
As I said earlier, my experience with Minolta’s lenses has been excellent. The various primes, in particular, are quite good; even the zooms have performed very nicely for me. But multiple decades on since they were made, I’ve seen MC and MD lenses alike — across their own, individual, multiple iterations — with issues including oil-contaminated aperture blades, coating defects, balsam separation, and of course, enemy #1: fungus. Honestly, that’s life with old lenses, plain and simple, and no brand’s glass is immune to accidents, poor handling, or careless storage practices. But when they’re good, they’re really good, and I think these images show that.
Some of these are early, some recent, but all of them give me inspiration to just keeping using my XG 1, something I truly look forward to in the weeks, months, years — and hopefully decades — ahead.
