Instagram is a terrible place to find creative inspiration. Nevertheless, I found myself scrolling away. Over time, what I discovered was that the vast majority of the images I enjoyed the most were all shot on medium format. I added “buy medium format camera” to my to-do list and eventually got a hold of a Mamiya 645 1000S with a prism viewfinder. Ultimately, it was a disappointing experience; it was awkward to handle, the viewfinder was difficult to focus with, and the images were missing that “special sauce” that prompted me to buy the camera in the first place. Considering the difference in cost-per-photo between a roll of 120 film and a roll of 35mm film, and the fact that the 645 images weren’t blowing away anything I shot on 35mm, the Mamiya sat on my shelf for most of its days; the juice wasn't worth the squeeze. Also, with my son being born, opportunities for going out on extended photo adventures became almost nonexistent and he became my primary subject. The slow-to-use Mamiya did not lend itself to capturing the fast and unpredictable movements of a toddler.
A while later, I decided to revisit medium format. However, this time I knew that if I wanted the “medium format look,” I needed something that would shoot a 6x7 negative. I had always wanted a Mamiya RZ67, but the prices were always astronomical. So I began browsing Facebook Marketplace for the RZ’s older, less expensive predecessor, the RB67. The prices were all relatively reasonable—between $400 and $600—and I knew I could get about that for my Mamiya 645. So, I went ahead and put the 645 up for sale. After several unsuccessful attempts at purchasing an RB67 from Marketplace, it happened; I found an RZ67 Pro II with two lenses for sale, locally, for a mere $500. The 645 had long been sold at this point, so I reached out to the seller immediately. By 7 am the next day, I had a practically brand-new RZ67 in my hands.
The first thing that struck me about this camera was the size and weight. It weighs about 5.5 lbs with a lens mounted, and the lenses themselves are massive. I’m reminded of Boris the Blade’s words of wisdom, “Heavy is good, heavy is reliable.” Everything about this camera says craftsmanship; the focus knobs turn smoothly with the perfect amount of resistance, the aperture ring on the lenses clicks definitively into place, and mounting a lens is like assembling a finely crafted timepiece. The precise mechanical click as the lens locks into place evokes the same satisfaction as fitting the final gear into a vintage watch. Every component feels meticulously designed, each movement deliberate and purposeful, coming together to create a seamless, reliable piece of photographic artistry. I was dying to get out and put this to work.
The first outing with the RZ was filled with frustration. The viewfinder, as gorgeous as it is to look through, takes practice—a lot of practice. The image that you see in the viewfinder is laterally the reverse of the scene that’s in front of your eyes. If the subject is framed too far to the right in the viewfinder, you need to move the camera to the left. If the horizon is tilted too far to the left, you need to twist the camera to the right. Every other camera I’ve ever used has always been very intuitive. The RZ’s waist-level viewfinder genuinely short-circuited my brain. If I thought using the 645 was slow, the RZ brought my photography down to a snail’s pace. I would also occasionally forget to remove the dark slide from the film back and wound up with a couple of blank frames. It’s supposed to have a safety feature that prevents the camera from firing when the dark slide is inserted; mine is seemingly lacking that feature.
None of these frustrations deterred me from continuing to use this monster of a camera. The sensory experience alone of using the RZ makes it worthwhile to work through its initial challenges. Looking through the Mamiya RZ67's viewfinder is nothing short of breathtaking. The large, bright viewfinder provides a captivating preview of your scene, setting the stage for each shot with unparalleled clarity and detail. The sound the camera makes when pressing the shutter button is loud and incredibly satisfying. Charging the cocking lever between frames is like setting the gears of an old-school adding machine in motion. With a deliberate pull, you feel the intricate mechanics engage, each component moving in a synchronized dance. The smooth resistance followed by a reassuring click tells you everything is in place, ready for the next frame. It's a tactile confirmation of precision engineering, where every motion serves a purpose, embodying the essence of mechanical craftsmanship.
Now, let's talk about the real star of the show—the images. The Mamiya RZ67 boasts a massive 6x7 cm negative, resulting in breathtakingly detailed photographs with exceptional dynamic range and depth. The negatives are truly massive; five times the size of a 35mm negative and nearly twice the size of a 645 negative. The medium format magic truly shines through in every shot, whether capturing landscapes, portraits, or still life compositions. I haven’t gotten the chance to print anything in the darkroom from a 6x7 negative yet, but it is at the top of my to-do list.
In conclusion, the Mamiya RZ67 is a testament to the artistry of medium format photography. While it presents its share of challenges, the rewards are undeniable. From its unique waist-level viewfinder to the unparalleled image quality, this camera has reignited my passion for medium format film photography.
If you're ready to explore the world of medium format and don't mind a bit of a learning curve, the Mamiya RZ67 is a worthy investment that will inspire and elevate your craft. Embrace the quirks, embrace the weight, and get ready to capture stunning images that will leave you—and your viewers—in awe.