I’ve compiled a list of the best cheap 35mm point and shoot film cameras for you. The Canon A-1 is one my favorites, but there are many things to take into consideration. To get started, check out the criteria I used and then check out this top five list.
It’s the standard for street shooters and travel photographers: the 35mm point and shoot camera. A camera that offers you the chance to get up close to people, places, and things without a massive price tag attached to it.
If you’re like me and would prefer to actually hold the device that you’re capturing images with, then you will no doubt have started looking for the best cheap point and shoot.
Best cheap point and shoot film camera
So you want to be a photographer? You want to shoot with a film camera? Good for you! It’s never been easier to become a photographer with the explosion in independent film. Heck, even Kodak is selling a 300 ISO film these days! But if you’re not au fait to the world of film photography and all the terminology that comes with it, it can be difficult to work out which camera is right for you. There are many different types of film cameras, even some pretty obscure ones under the umbrella of point-and-shoot 35mm frames. Which one should you use? My job is to help you get started, not by recommending you specific cameras, but by explaining what’s available, and why. Through my series of articles I’m going to cover many topics: what can be expected at different price points; what type of photographer each camera suits; the kind of pictures that go with the most popular formats; working with film; what kind of accessories will enhance your shooting experience; and much more…
Excited to introduce the best cheap point and shoot film cameras ever! Do you want to know what that is? Here it goes: the truth? The truth is I don’t know. 20 years ago, I didn’t even know this exists.
Excited to share my latest project and self promoted post. I’m going to be blogging about cameras for a bit and would like to know if there are any cameras you wouldn’t mind reading about. I’m shooting with a nikon EM in black and have found some very cool vintage film cameras online. I’ve been using this camera for quite some time and thought that I would be able to use it for my entire life (I’m still young after all), but it looks like the EM is only capable of so much, so I will soon upgrade to an FE2. Anyways, i just got back from shooting with the EM around the city and thought i’d share the pictures with you guys (because I love sharing pictures with friends :P).
Casual photophile point and shoot
Parts of this article will read as if I’ve lost my mind. If not my mind, something else. My confidence, maybe. Or my perspective. Or maybe I’m just feeling lost. Maybe you are too. Maybe we’re all a little lost right now. Maybe we can find each other here, or come up with a way to find ourselves. Maybe a camera can help.
I’ve not written an article for this site, my site, since November 4th, and even then I was using old photos and outlines from the summer of 2020. It’s impossible to overstate how unusual that is. I had to look back in the archive to confirm it. I didn’t realize it had been that long. It’s surprising and strange. More than that, it’s indicative.
Beginning in April of 2014 and continuing until September of 2020, there hadn’t been a period of more than two days wherein I hadn’t written something for this site. Even throughout precious family vacations I’ve continued to work (those readers who’ve pointed out that my Disney World photos aren’t useful as test shots will know). Daytrips to Martha’s Vineyard have served double duty as article fodder for years. But this year has been different.
It’s tiring to hear and to read, and these are things we’ve all read and heard ad nauseam. But it’s also the truth. The past twelve months have been exhausting, challenging, and for some of us disastrous, for others terrifying. There are psychological dynamics happening in us, in me, which I’m neither educated enough nor emotionally intelligent enough to fathom. But I feel it. And this writing is an attempt to plumb it. Call it a self-indulgent piece of writing (some readers will, and with fairness). But these words are as much personal introspection as they are a reaching hand to any potential readers who might recognize themselves somewhere in these paragraphs. I’m trying to help – myself, yeah, but others as well.
In September I had a panic attack, the first of my life. In a piece of writing in which I attempted to hint to my readers that I might need to take a break, I described the sensation as “drowning in open air… An animal feeling.” I feel that feeling now still, and have (to some degree) every day since that day in September.
Not long after that, my wife, who had been pregnant for four months, went to a routine ultrasound where alone she learned that the baby inside her was dead. He was a boy who we’d named Henry. I was home with my two daughters, loading dishes into the dishwasher when my wife walked through the door. There are things in life which one can never forget – one, for me now, is the persistent sound of rushing tap-water as I fearfully begged a relentlessly sobbing wife to tell me what was the matter.
The time between then and Christmas feels distant. I can’t cast my mind back, and I don’t know that I want to. There’s a few blank frames (there, I did a film reference for you). Months haunted by the specters of grief and pain. Sealing those ominous wraiths within coffins, to be exhumed in places of meticulously crafted privacy – after pandemic-induced home-schooling is done, after the house is clean, after the work is finished, when the kids are fed and happy and in bed and the house is quiet.
On Christmas morning I felt that I should shoot some photos. I found my Nikon SP in the office, the frame counter of which showed that eleven frames had already been shot. I remembered what this camera had begun recording, what I’d intended to record with it to completion. A lovely idea. A phenomenal photo project. A full-term, nine-month pregnancy shot on a single roll of film, the final frame the first minute of my son’s life.
What an article that would make. What a project. I recalled frame one – the positive pregnancy test. I recalled frame two – a candid mirror shot of my wife moments after learning that she was indeed pregnant. Frame five – an enlarging belly. Frame eight – the “It’s a Boy” sign which my daughters made in their boundless enthusiasm. Frame eleven – tiny socks fresh from the dryer.
The loss has changed things for me in ways which I’m only beginning to realize. Predominant is a persistent feeling that life is tragically fleeting. That we all have almost no time at all. That many of us have less time than most.
When I was six years old, I saw a local television news reporter reporting live from a public restroom in a mall in middle America. From his square of linoleum he proclaimed in a cadence of studied weightiness that the then widely misunderstood AIDS epidemic had reached our state, and that it would be possible for any good citizen to contract the fatal disease “even from surfaces in a public restroom.” I cried every night for a year because I’d been inside hundreds of public restrooms in my six years on Earth. Surely no kid could roll the dice that many times and not come up snake eyes. I researched the life expectancy of AIDS patients and planned to tell my family of my infection only after I’d reached age fourteen – no sense worrying them until the very end, I reasoned.
Of course, I didn’t have AIDS or die. But since then there have been countless periods of weeks or months during which I’ve convinced myself with perfect certainty that I had… something else. I was dying of cancer because I was tired. I had Leukemia because my legs ached for three days in a row. I had Eastern Equine Encephalitis because I was bitten by a mosquito and two days later felt a little bit hot.
Nevermind that I was probably tired because I’d not slept for more than five hours a night over the span of three years. And my legs couldn’t hurt just because I’d done squats at the gym for the first time in two months. And yeah, I was feeling unusually feverish – but not because it was summer, nor because I had a sunburn. It was that poisoned mosquito bite. Three real-world examples out of hundreds.
Intellectually, it sounds foolish and laughable. It’s hard to laugh at it when you’re living it.
From the moment I learned the word, I’ve suspected that I’m a hypochondriac. I don’t say that in the same way that some people like to say they have attention deficit disorder (ADD) because they can’t focus entirely throughout a boring movie, or in the way that other people say they have obsessive compulsive disorder (OCD) because they like things to be orderly. Everyone gets bored and everyone prefers that things be neat. I don’t take this lightly.
Since the onset of the coronavirus pandemic I’ve panicked myself over the idea that I have COVID-19 (the disease brought on by the novel coronavirus) at least once per week. This is no exaggeration. I have visualized with perfect clarity hundreds of times the moment in which I die and leave my kids behind, unable to say goodbye or see them. When I wake up in the morning I instantly think about dying. Every day that I feel fine, I remind myself that the symptoms can appear days or weeks after infection, and that I might already be infected. I might already be dead.
I try to recall how much I can remember of the years of my life before age six (my oldest daughter is six years old) in order to calculate how much of me they’ll remember when they’re adults in the event that I die sometime this year. Dozens of times a day, I imagine my wife and kids living their lives without me. At the worst moments I imagine the inverse nightmare – my family dying and leaving me alive. Countless scenarios of loss and absence. It’s hell, and I really don’t know what to do about it.
Remember when I said that some parts of this article will make me sound crazy?
When I woke up this morning I immediately felt my throat. It was sore. A few panicked moments later, after a glass of water had relieved my throat dried overnight by the winter air, I felt fine.
It had snowed overnight and the ground was covered. I could do all the usual descriptors – pillowy hills. Blankets of downy snow. Fluffy, white sheets… Why are they always bedding?
My kids are in that glorious phase of life in which everything is a novelty to be treasured and lived. I love that about them. They remind me to look up at the clouds and to wonder at how a caterpillar turns into a butterfly. From the warmth of their beds, they ran to the window and begged me to play in the snow. So we did. And unusually (of late), I brought a camera out with me. Not a great camera. Not even, I thought, a very good camera.
I thought Let’s shoot the worst camera I have in the office right now. Something nobody wants. Something nobody would waste their time using, or writing about, or shooting a video about. It will probably be lifeless and I won’t have anything to say.
I chose the Sony Cyber-shot DSC-TX9, a point-and-shoot digital camera from (let me look it up) 2010.
Twelve megapixels. Touch screen. Bunch of shooting modes including background de-focus. Do we really need to do this? The best parts of it are the slick sliding lens cover (which slides vertically) and the optimistic warble that it sings whenever we turn it on.
If you like Walkmans or Sony Minidisc players or the PSP Go, or if you drive a 2001 BMW Z3 and want a period-looking camera to put in the car’s center console (and never use), you’ll love this camera. I do. But this really isn’t the point, is it? Not this time. (I’ll review this camera properly if just one person tells me to do so in the comments – please don’t.)
Out in the snow, we did all the snow things one does in the snow. Snow angels. Snow balls. Snow men (or women, what the hell, patriarchy?). My old dog did what he does – chew sticks, bite snow, roll around. The kids squealed with delight, swung on a swing set covered in snow, took photos with their own cameras, reveled in their tiny, happy lives.
As happened many years earlier when my wife and I struggled for over a year to have our first child, photography was an escape. The camera gave a point of focus, crowded out the anxiety and worry. Then again, the camera isn’t really doing anything. It’s just a camera, a pretty unspectacular camera, at that. But over the years I’ve found that even the worst cameras end up pointing at what’s important. And that sort of makes any camera “the best camera.”
I ended the morning feeling buoyed. My kids did that for me. Cameras let me record it. We’re all going to die. Photos leave something of us behind, the smallest of comforts.
The temptation for the blog writer is to write this experience into something greater than it is. To come up with a snappy headline – How the Sony Cyber-shot DSC-TX9 Saved My Life, or similar nonsense. It didn’t. It’s just a camera. But it gave me the extra nudge I needed to get out of my office, out of the house and into the snow. It got me moving, it helped me ease up for a while, and it helped me have a fun day with my kids.
I’m the editor of this site, which means that I choose what gets published and what doesn’t. I’ve vacillated on publishing this article dozens of times while writing it, and later as it sat in draft form. It’s a weird one. From a business perspective, from the perspective of building on the “brand’s” synergistic content profile, it’s not a good fit. But then again, exposing things to light usually leads to good things.
Perspective is everything, as photographers know better than most. Things for me are tough at the moment. But they could be worse. For many other people, things are worse. Maybe things are worse for you. Maybe you feel like shit, too. If so, this article should tell you that you’re not alone, and that a camera can help. Family and friends can help. And as long as we keep engaging with the parts of life which are meaningful and good, everything eventually will be fine.
But damn. Just stick me with the vaccine already. And I’ll take a therapist, too.
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The Canon Sure Shot A1 is a point-and-shoot 35mm film camera which first debuted in 1994. It’s a friendly, cute and simple-to-use camera, with a good lens and some interesting features not found in typical point-and-shoots of its era, most obvious of which is its ability to operate underwater to depths as great as 15 feet.
I love underwater cameras. I love them even though I live where the ocean is too cold for sane human use for ten months of the year and despite the fact that I can’t swim very well. There’s just something interesting, maybe even romantic, about a camera that can operate as well underwater as it can in open air. Like the Tudor Black Bay dive watch that mostly sits on my nightstand or the Zeiss binoculars that stay meticulously dustless on my office desk, underwater cameras are among the purpose-built gizmos that I dream of using to their full potential, yet never do. Still – I love them.
And I love this underwater camera, the one that I’ve spent the past few weeks shooting, just the same. It’s a fun, dead simple camera that makes great pictures (even if I’m too cowardly to use it in the ocean).
Let’s Dive Into That Spec Sheet
Camera Type – Waterproof, fully automatic 35mm film camera
Image area – 24 x 36mm (full frame)
Underwater Depth – 5 meter (16 feet)
Lens – Canon 32mm f/3.5
Autofocus System – AiAF (Smart AF) system (fixed focus underwater)
Shooting Range – 0.45 meters (1.5 feet) to infinity on land; 1 to 3 meters (3.3 to 9.9 feet) underwater; underwater macro mode 0.45 meters to 1 meter (1.5 to 3.3 feet)
Shutter – Electromagnetically-driven program shutter
Viewfinder – 0.42x magnification Albada-type finder with frame-lines, parallax correction frame-lines, and AF indicator
Film Winding and Rewinding – Automatic
Frame Counter – Counts up and down during winding and rewinding
Film Check – Window on film door
Self-Timer – 10 second delay
Metering Range (at ISO 100) – Flash Auto and Flash On modes 1/60 f/3.5-1/250 f/22 (EV9.5-17); Flash Off mode 2 seconds f/3.5-1/250 f/22 (EV3-17)
Film Speed – ISO 25-3200 DX-coded film.
Flash – Built-in flash, automatic mode; 0.45-3.4 meters at ISO 100; recycle time approx. 4 seconds
Battery – One 3V lithium battery (CR123) good for aprox. 18 rolls of film
Buoyancy – Floats in water
Dimensions – 133 x 88 x 53 mm (5.25 x 3.48 x 2.11 inches)
Weight – 300 grams (10.6 oz.)
Shooting the Sure Shot A1
This whole segment defies elaboration. But I’ll elaborate. Because it’s my job.
The Canon Sure Shot A1 is, as I’ve already written, dead simple to use. Though it can also be said that users who read the manual will get more out of this camera than will someone who simply picks it up and starts firing. Sure, there’s only one dial and it’s only got five settings (four, if we don’t count “OFF”), but knowing when and how to use these settings will make at least a little of a difference.
The first step to using the camera is to load the film. This is done in the usual way, but unusually we should remember to check the film door’s rubber seal for errant sand particles or other debris. Flippant readers should pause and reflect, and not take this warning lightly. The camera’s manual states in no uncertain terms that even a single grain of sand or one strand of hair can render these all-important seals useless, resulting in a flooded and ruined camera. The manual also makes sure to mention, undoubtedly to avoid warranty claims resulting from user error, that a broken camera caused by a flooded film compartment simply “cannot be repaired.”
Once the door is shut, the camera automatically detects the film’s ISO via DX coding and auto-advances the film to the first frame. From here, we’re in classic point-and-shoot territory. For the majority of users and use cases, pointing and shooting will work just fine. Some finer points, however, exist.
The camera’s handy mode dial features a Flash Off mode, Flash On mode, Red Eye Reduction Automatic mode, and Underwater Macro Zone Focus mode. These modes all operate as would be expected by veteran Camera-likers™. Newcomers should remember the following Pro-tips™:
Use Flash On mode whenever shooting underwater, or when seeking to soften shadows on subjects in bright light (see my examples of my daughter’s portrait at the beach). Flash Off should be used in low light situations (this mode will force the camera to make a long exposure), or in places where flash photography is prohibited (will I take this camera to Disney World? Probably). Red Eye Reduction Auto mode is the standard shooting mode in which the camera does all of the work – most people will use this setting exclusively. And the Underwater Macro mode is for shooting fishies whenever they swim between 1.5 and 3.3 feet away from your face.
There’s also a self-timer!
In practical use, setting the camera to Auto nearly always makes a perfect photo. About 75% of the shots in this review were made with the camera set to Auto (am I Ken Rockwell now?). The camera’s exposure system works great, even in challenging lighting situations such as when a subject is heavily backlit by something big and bright, like The Sun. At times when my photographer brain says “those shadows are too harsh” a quick flick of the switch solves the problem by forcing a fill flash. When I notice that the light is dim and kill the flash, pictures look good too (though a bit softer from the subdued light and longer exposure).
The autofocus system, which Canon called AiAF (Smart focus), works amazingly well. When shooting on dry land, subjects not centered in the frame are still almost always focused upon accurately. For the trickiest of shots, where the subject is on the extreme edge of the frame, it’s possible to use the classic focus and recompose technique. Place the AF patch over your subject, half-press the shutter release button to lock focus, recompose and shoot with a full press of the button. Easy and fast.
My photographer brain is helped along in its picture-taking via some simple projected lines and lights in the viewfinder. The outer frames indicate the camera’s image area, and the smaller frame indicates the parallax corrected frame when shooting in macro mode. The center dot is the AF focusing patch – put this on your subject and half-press the shutter button. A green light on the right-hand side of the VF gives more info – a solid green LED indicates that focus has been achieved and that all is well. If the green light does not illuminate, focus has not been achieved and you are likely too close to your subject. A rapidly flashing light warns of camera shake (because we’re taking a slightly long exposure) and we should try to hold things as steady as possible or use a tripod.
And that essentially covers how to use this camera on land. Read the manual, use fresh film, and your photos will be properly focused and properly exposed a better-than-average 95% of the time.
When shooting underwater, things are a little more complicated. To start, the Auto mode should not be used, because the Red Eye Reduction feature will lead to longer exposures than is necessary. When shooting under the waves use Flash On mode in pools and when the water is relatively clear, or Macro mode when subjects are within the appropriate distance. If there’s excessive particulate in the water, your photos will likely turn out terrible in any mode, but the manual suggests using Flash Off.
The Canon Sure Shot A1’s autofocus system also functions differently underwater than it does on land. Here the AiAF system automatically deactivates and the camera converts to a fixed focus system. When underwater, any subject at distances between 3.3 and 9 feet will be in focus. But this calculation is not so simple, since the refractive index of water is approximately 1.33 times greater than that of air. For this reason, underwater subjects will appear about 25% closer than they actually are, and this should be factored when shooting.
Image Quality
I used this camera in my pool, in a park, and at the beach. I made a bunch of good photos. A good photographer could probably make great photos.
The camera is not limiting, and the lens is quite good. At 32mm, it’s a little bit wider than I’m accustomed to, but the viewfinder frame lines are accurate enough and the big, bright VF allows easy composition with glasses, sunglasses, and snorkel masks. The acceptably quick maximum aperture allows for low light shooting with the right speed film, and the camera’s ability to meter films up to 3200 ISO means we won’t be missing out when the sun starts setting.
My shots have been sharp and clean. There’s ample punch, excellent color rendition, and accurate exposure across a wide range of films and lighting conditions. Flares and ghosts do appear when we’re shooting with sun glancing off of the camera’s front. These most likely present as a result of the waterproof covering that necessarily encapsulates the lens. I don’t find these flares to be egregious. In fact, I enjoy them. They lend a summertime, cinematic vibe to my shots.
No flash.Fill flash.
Care and Maintenance
I’d like readers who go on to purchase their own Canon Sure Shot A1 to be armed with some useful information prior to the shoot. It would be irresponsible of me to send you away without this knowledge. If you spend your hard-earned cash on an underwater camera, remember the following simple tips.
Never open the film back when the camera is wet or sandy. Always wash the camera off in clean, fresh (non-salt) water and dry the camera with a soft cloth prior to opening the film back. If you absolutely must open the film door to swap a roll before rinsing the camera, take care to dry the camera first. But more important than this – ensure that there’s absolutely no sand on the camera, paying special attention to the area around the latch which opens the film back. This latch in particular is very prone to collecting grains of sand, and attempting to open it with even a small amount of sand in the mechanism will inevitably seize the plastic latch and break the camera (don’t make me tell how I know).
Lastly, don’t rinse the camera under running water. While this camera can be submerged gently in the ocean or pool, it is not meant to withstand even a small amount of water pressure. Tossing the camera into the pool or ocean, or allowing it to sit under running tap-water will invariably create a leak. When rinsing the camera it is advised by the manual (and by me) that it should be gently submerged into a bucket of water and gently swished about to remove salt, chlorine, and sand.
No flash.Fill flash.
Comparisons and Buyer’s Guide
As mentioned, I love underwater cameras and I’ve owned, shot, and reviewed quite a few – the Nikonos series (literally every model), the Nikon L35AW, the Chinon Splash, the Pentax IQ Zoom 90 WR, the Minolta Weathermatic…
In that pantheon of great underwater film-burners, the Canon Sure Shot A1 ranks pretty well. It’s a well-made, high-performing, extremely simple-to-use camera that’s comparable to other underwater point-and-shoots made by Nikon and Pentax and others. But it’s also sort of hard to rank.
Its lens is not as good as the Nikon L35AWs, but it’s almost indistinguishably close. It’s much smaller than the Nikon, and the Pentax 90WR. But the Pentax has a zoom lens. It’s not as durable as the Nikonos, but it is much more portable. It’s the cutest camera of the bunch, if that counts for anything.
There’s no reason to choose the Canon over any of the other underwater point-and-shoot cameras, but there’s also no reason to choose the others over the Canon. This decision may come down to brand loyalty, an aesthetic tingle, or a fondness or loathing for white plastic.
Final Thoughts
A week before I’d shot the Canon Sure Shot A1, I wondered to myself how the experience would end. My love for underwater cameras and unusual camera design had me hedging that I’d find a new friend in the Canon. But I also knew that if my shots came back under-exposed, badly focused, or otherwise botched by an inept, old camera, I’d end up hating it. Luckily, the little white and red cutie didn’t disappoint.
It’s a great little camera, one that makes effortless and beautiful snapshots of beach days and aquatic adventures. It can dunk 15 feet underwater and still work great. And though I may never find myself firing its flash in front of a full grown leopard shark, you can bet your snorkel I’ll have this Canon Sure Shot A1 with me the next time I’m in the pool.
The Camera-wiki page on trashcams defines a “trashcam” hilariously: a trashcam is any camera whose value at least doubles when loaded with film.
There are two ambiguities here (it’s just a working definition, after all). Are we talking about the value of a used camera, or retail price? And what kind of film: a cheap roll like Kentmere or Foma, or a premium stock like Fuji Velvia?
In 2007, the Pogo Click 35mm Focus Free camera retailed in India for Rs. 99. That’s around Rs. 250 in today’s money, or 3.50 US Dollars. So even if we take the narrowest definition – a camera whose retail value at least doubles when loaded with cheap film – the Pogo makes the grade as a trashcam.
Now you might say that qualifying as a trashcam is not exactly ‘making the grade’. The term trashcam does sound derogatory, but I think the time is ripe to reclaim the term. Many years ago I read a New Yorker article which had a line that stuck with me: ‘[Tiger] Woods would destroy us with a single rusty five-iron found at the back of a garage, and Cartier-Bresson could have picked up a Box Brownie and done more with a roll of film […] than the rest of us would manage with a lifetime of Leicas.’
It’s easy to be dismissive of the Pogo and its ilk. But it’s more interesting, I think, to try and take good pictures with it. Likewise, it’s easy to write a snarky review – throw in a few jokes about its plastic lens and general lack of features. But it’s more interesting to approach it like I would any other camera. How does it measure up in light of what it cost? Who was it made for, and how would they use it? Above all, what kind of pictures does it make?
- Focus and Exposure
The Pogo is an all-plastic, fixed-focus 35mm film camera with no exposure control. Such cameras are usually set to ~f/8 and ~1/100 sec. The small aperture, combined with the relatively wide focal length of ~35mm ensures that everything from ~2 metres to infinity is in focus.
You may have noticed that I used the approximately symbol (~) four times in the previous paragraph. That’s because all of these numbers are based on general internet research on ‘35mm focus free’ cameras. I couldn’t find info on the Pogo in particular, and neither the camera nor its rudimentary instruction manual concerns itself with such minor details. But on the one roll of film which I’ve so far shot with this camera, these assumptions stood me in good stead, so I think they are as good a starting-point as any.
On some higher-end point-and-shoot cameras, focus and exposure are set automatically, but that requires sophisticated electronics which drive up the price and are prone to failure. Manual focus and exposure, on the other hand, is a bit of a learning curve. The Pogo, it seems, was designed for children, or for adults who want to take pictures with the minimum of effort. As such, it does away with the ability to control focus and exposure altogether. Just compose and click: photography at its purest. Sort of.
Needless to say, there are downsides. The lack of exposure control means you can only use the camera in a limited range of lighting conditions. There’s no scope for creative tricks like shallow depth of field or slow shutter speeds. Anything closer than 2 meters will be blurry. Anything further away will be in focus. And so on.
- Other Features
This will be a short section; the Pogo has fewer features than any camera I have ever used. On top, it has the shutter-release and a film rewind knob. On the left you have a latch to pop open the film door. On the back, there is the film door itself, and below it, a dial for advancing film (which also cocks the shutter). On the bottom, there’s a frame counter, and a button you press when rewinding film. There are no other controls. In particular, there is no hot shoe, flash, lens cover, self-timer or tripod mount (not that you need one at ~1/100 sec).
On the plus side, there is no need for batteries, and few things can go wrong. It is a minimalist, all-mechanical camera – just like the Leica M2. In fact in at least one respect, the Pogo is more advanced: its frame counter resets to zero when you open the film door – a feature missing on the Leica M2.
- Handling
With the possible exception of small internal parts like springs and screws, the Pogo (including the lens, which I will come to later) is made entirely of plastic – very light plastic at that. As you would expect, it feels very flimsy. I would not drop it, say, or force the film advance dial if it got stuck. That has not happened to me so far, but the dial is possibly my least favorite thing about the camera. It is serrated, which is unpleasant to my fingers, and it makes a squeaky sound.
The Pogo’s viewfinder has plastic optics. Like most compact cameras, it is a reverse Galilean type where everything is in focus. It’s fairly small, and has barrel distortion (unlike the lens, which has pincushion distortion). I didn’t specifically test for whether its field of view matches that of the lens, but it seems close enough.
The grip is surprisingly comfortable. The Pogo has a contoured front, and a plastic thumb-rest on the back. For added security, there is a wrist loop threaded to the side of the body. Film loading and rewind are manual, but straightforward. The camera is very easy to carry – super light (the upside of cheap plastic) and compact.
- History
Toy cameras have been manufactured over decades – the iconic Diana came out way back in the 1960s, and while the likes of Nikon and Canon have stopped making film cameras, toy cameras are still going strong. They come in a variety of shapes and sizes, both 35mm and medium-format. Some manufacturers went for the SLR look, while others got more creative. Many, like the Pogo, have a classic compact-camera shape, which I personally prefer for this type of camera. Form follows function, and the lack of decorative or pseudo-SLR elements keeps it smaller and lighter.
Like many other toy cameras, the Pogo was made in China, and bears no indication of the actual manufacturer. Pogo is merely the branding, like on the more famous Time Magazine camera. (Pogo, by the way, is an Indian kids’ channel, which gives you some idea of the target audience.)
The camera was imported and marketed in India by a Mumbai-based company called Mitashi (their name appears on the box, and is also printed on the body itself). The camera I’m using is tomato red, but judging from the pictures on the box, it came in three other colors: blue, pink and yellow. The box also has the month and year of import (July 2007) and the maximum retail price (Rs. 99).
The camera I used for this review actually belongs to my cousin. Her parents bought it for her in 2007, when she was around 14 years old. I believe she shot a couple of rolls with it – family vacations and such – but switched to a digital camera soon afterwards. The Pogo seemed destined to be forgotten.
Last month we were chatting about photography, and she remembered she still has the camera somewhere. Soon the Pogo was retrieved, still in its original box and apparently functional. I had never used a toy camera before, so we thought we’d try it out together. The plan was to go for a walk around my neighborhood, shoot a roll of film and develop it that same evening.
I’m not set up to develop color film at home, so it would have to be B&W. The main limitation, on a winter afternoon with hazy light and lengthening shadows, was the fixed aperture of f/8. I loaded the Pogo with a roll of Ilford HP5 Plus, planning to push to ISO 800. HP5 also has good dynamic range, which I hoped would partly compensate for the lack of exposure control. (In India, a roll of HP5 costs around Rs 600, so it more than trebled the inflation-adjusted price of the camera.)
The sample photos in this article are all from that one roll. They were shot in the space of about two hours in failing light with a toy camera, so I hope you’re not expecting masterpieces. Some photos are by me and some by my cousin. I haven’t indicated who took which, because it doesn’t seem that important. Increasingly I find my photographic interests moving towards collaboration – photo-walks, swapping cameras, engaging with subjects, getting them to participate in the process, giving away prints, and so forth. But that’s a story for another day.
- Optics, Limitations and Sample Photos
First I’ll show a few photos which illustrate some of the limitations of the camera. With a fixed aperture of f/8, the biggest limitation is lack of low-light capability. Negative film (both B&W and color) handle overexposure relatively well, so too much light is unlikely to be a problem. This is a camera for summer holidays, sunny days by the beach. On a hazy winter afternoon, HP5 pushed to 800 could cope when we were out on the streets, as you can see from the photo of my cousin. But the photo of me on the balcony is underexposed. And the ghostly photo of my mum and aunt, taken in indoor lighting, is essentially unusable.
The Pogo’s single-element, meniscus lens is made of plastic. A very early lens – the historic Wollaston landscape lens (1804) used on camera obscuras – was also a meniscus lens. But unlike the Wollaston which was a rear meniscus lens, toy cameras tend to use a front meniscus – the convex surface faces outwards (rather than towards the film), and the aperture stop is behind (not in front of) the lens.
Meniscus lenses are generally designed to minimize two of the seven deadly optical aberrations – coma (which can be reduced to zero) and field curvature (reduced, but not eliminated). Spherical aberration is mitigated by the small f-stop, but is still quite prominent. Being highly asymmetrical about the aperture stop – a strongly curved element on one side, no elements at all on the other – meniscus lenses also can’t correct transverse chromatic aberration and distortion. Rear meniscus designs like the Wollaston have barrel distortion, while front meniscus lenses, like on the Pogo, have pincushion distortion. Finally, the simple, uncoated plastic lens is prone to flare.
The photo of the cyclists, taken from the other side of a level crossing, shows many of the ‘defects’ I just listed. The resolution is acceptable in the center but falls apart in the corners – spherical aberration running amok. The railway line at the bottom, which is horizontal in real life, shows marked pincushion distortion. The sun was behind them, so there’s a healthy dose of flare (veiling glare) which reduces overall contrast.
The photos of the bridge and the cat show the extent of flare. They were taken in the same location within a few meters (and a few minutes) of each other. The bridge was shot against the light, facing west, and the cat photo facing east. The difference in contrast is remarkable. To be fair, flare can look interesting on color film, which I have not tried on this camera.
Finally, the bird on the wire also shows how the lens is less sharp in the corners (I colorized and added a slight vignette in Photoshop, but these don’t affect the sharpness). The lens, by the way, seems to have fairly even illumination; it has various issues, but vignetting is not one of them.
Some of these defects can be exploited. In the portrait of the young man, the buckets to the left are blurry – the result of optical aberrations, but it creates a nice selective-focus effect. The deep depth of field is not a problem if the subject is against a dark background, like in the photo of the idol, or the child sucking on a chocolate wrapper while his mother looks on.
- Toy Camera Aesthetic
I think there are two ways to shoot a camera like the Pogo. The first way produces relatively sharp, technically superior images. Place your subject near the center. Don’t shoot against the sun. Avoid straight lines near the edges of the frame so as not to emphasize distortion. Take pictures in good light, with the subject two meters or more from the camera.
The other way – a better way in my opinion – is to lean into the ‘defects’. Nancy Rexroth, who has done some stunning work with a Diana camera, described her approach in a 1974 Aperture article:
“The photographs in this portfolio were taken in southeastern Ohio with a Diana camera. It cost about $1.50. It is a toy camera that works well. The company also makes a cheaper model that squirts water when you press the shutter. I have developed my own method of hand-holding, sometimes shooting with my eyes closed, using the zone system, dreaming, using five different types of film.“
Now if that’s not a cool artist statement, I don’t know what is.
Personally, I’m not very good at this style of photography. My instinct is to take ‘straight photos,’ but I would like to explore other ways of picture-making. That’s one reason for my interest in homemade pinhole cameras, and toy cameras like the Pogo.
- Alternatives
Toy cameras can only really be compared with other toy cameras; they are, literally, in a class of their own. And in that class, the Pogo is one of the simplest. However, many of the extra features on other toy cameras are not that appealing to me. For example, the aforementioned Time Magazine camera has a choice of four aperture settings. But its widest aperture is around f/6, which is not much better than the Pogo. Moreover, it has a metal weight glued inside the body to give it a sense of heft. The Pogo is small, light and unpretentious, which I like.
[Image credits: Time Camera by Josh N (cc by-nc 2.0); Jazz 207 by Ross (cc by-nc-sa 2.0); Pokémon by Boxy Brown’s Bling (cc by-nc 2.0).]
Some toy cameras like the Jazz (above) have a fake panorama setting (not something I need) or flash (which requires batteries, making the camera heavier and more complex). And even I draw the line at the Pokémon camera which superimposes cartoon characters on the photo.
Having said all that, there are two simple things I would add to the Pogo if I could: a built-in sliding lens cover, and a hotshoe to mount a small flash unit if one wants to (the toy camera aesthetic pairs well with flash). I think these additions would be useful, but without adding much to the cost, complexity or weight.
This ‘ideal feature set’ does in fact exist, for example on this generic ‘35mm focus free’ camera. A Bulb mode, which appears on some toy cameras, would be amazing… but now I’m just being greedy.
If you’re in the market for a toy camera, Austerity Photo has some great reviews under the fixed-focus tag. Or just look up ‘35mm focus free’ on eBay; they often sell for less than a roll of Kodak Portra. Medium-format toy cameras are also an option, but I have no experience with those.
New cameras are available too, though a bit more expensive. This Austerity Photo article has a roundup of toy cameras in production as of summer 2021, and at least one other camera, the eco-friendly Lensfayre Snap, has since been added to their ranks.
- Final Thoughts
If you’re into photography (which you presumably are if you got this far!) and have never tried a toy camera, I would recommend it. Worst case, you waste a roll of film. Pass it on to someone else or convert it to a pinhole camera. Or you might get lucky – have a fun time, get some good pictures, and maybe even a new perspective on photography.
I had not used a toy camera either, but thanks to my cousin, I’m glad I had the experience. The simplicity is freeing. Just raise the camera to the eye, compose and click; no need to change settings, or even wait for autofocus to do its thing. Without eye-popping resolution and creamy bokeh to fall back on, it’s a fun challenge to try and take good pictures that rely more on composition and timing.
With more advanced cameras, if I get too hung up on metering, it’s reassuring to remember that we shot a whole roll in changing light at f/8 and 1/100 (film is forgiving, especially with overexposure). If I start taking myself or my photography too seriously, going out on the streets with a bright red plastic camera is as good an antidote as any. And in general, I find it amazing that a device which such basic features (not to mention, a one-element plastic lens!) can produce pictures at all.
The Pogo is not the world’s most rugged camera, but my cousin’s copy is still working 14 years after it was purchased. It has the fun-and-free feel of a disposable camera, while being multi-use and therefore much more eco-friendly. It’s limited in a lot of ways, but you can learn to work around the limitations – or even work with them. And to any possible criticism that you can muster, there is an unanswerable argument: this camera, even when new, cost less than a roll of film.
