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doctorkitch.jpg
1948

Reality and Mystique:

Leica M3

 

When I was four years old, looking through a stack of Life magazines, I came across Eugene Smith’s photo essay “The Country Doctor.”  I was fascinated by the pictures, especially the shot of the doctor—in a stupor of fatigue--slumped against a kitchen stove.  I had never thought of adults’ getting tired, much less doctors'.  I learned by looking, and never forgot the picture.  I was thirty-four years old before I ran across that photograph again--and simultaneously discovered that Smith was famous and the “Country Doctor” essay one of his best.

 

It says a lot about Smith that a four-year-old boy would be so impressed by a photograph.  It does not say too much about Leica cameras. 

 

What do I mean?  In 1979 I heard there was an exhibition of Smith’s prints at a gallery on New York’s Fifth Avenue.  I saw several of the original “Country Doctor” shots, and found their mood as powerful as ever.  However, I did not find the image quality outstanding:  the pictures were no sharper or richer than a lot of less famous shots I had seen.  I asked one of the curators what camera Smith used.  “Oh, Leica,” I was told.  “Always a Leica.”

 

I hope this illustrates one reason why it is difficult to think clearly about Leica cameras:  their reputation is bound up with the great photographers who have used them.  Leica equals Smith equals Cartier-Bresson equals Meiselas, etc.  It is hard not to be awed by an instrument that so many serious artists have found essential.  It is also true that Leica cameras are associated with a certain shooting style:  the up-close, involved recording of unguarded moments.   

 

Another confusing factor is the drumbeat for Leica.  The Leica brand has the same power as Rolls-Royce:  it is considered a marque of excellence even by people who don’t know cameras or cars.  When I’m out shooting with my Voigtlander Prominent, people often come over and ask reverentially, “Is that a Leica?”  When I am indeed shooting with a Leica, they don’t ask if I have a Voigtlander.  They just assume that any elegant, expensive-looking 35mm camera has to be a Leica.  And if it turns out that the camera is indeed a Leica, they congratulate me for having it! 

 

So how can we get out from under all this?  How can we think clearly about such a hallowed device?  My own approach has been to get some Leica equipment, pretend as much as possible that I haven’t heard of it before, and examine the results.  I would like to describe here what I have found.  I’ll be adding pictures to illustrate my points.    

 

A couple of years ago, I bought two M3s.  One came from an ebay auction; the other from a reputable dealer in the city where I live.  The former camera has been headaches; the latter has been flawless.  Two lessons are drawn from this:  (1) even an M3 can be worn out; (2) don’t buy blind.

 

Added note:  the rundown camera cost more than the good one from a dealer, not even counting repair costs!

 

Both my M3s are double-stroke models, which means they rolled off the production line rather early.  One of them is so early that it lacks the frame-preview lever.  Neither is early enough to have the glass pressure plate.  I went for double-stroke models because--according to a number of writers--their advance mechanism is smoother than the single-strokes' and stresses the film less.  I have handled a few single-stroke models, and I indeed feel the advance action is rougher and less positive than what I have on my own Leicas.  Some people avoid the double-strokers because they fear it would be confusing to advance the film in two strokes on only one camera in their collection.  I've not found that to be a problem:  as soon as I pick up a Leica, my hands start doing the correct thing.        

 

In my experience, the Nikon F has a better shutter than the M3, and the Voigtlander Vitomatic has a superior viewing system.  The Voigtlander Prominent is more beautiful, the Retina IIc is quieter, and almost any camera is easier to load.  So what’s the big deal?  The big deal is threefold:  the precision with which the M3 is made, the ease of its handling, and the lenses it mounts.

 

There’s not much to say about the first two features.  The precision manufacture affords a proper backing for the lenses; and the ease of use has virtually created a style of shooting.  The major factor here is lens quality, and that’s what I have attempted to examine.

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The Mystique-Mantled M3

Nikon used to have an information office at Rockefeller Center.  One day, many years ago, I drifted in and asked one of the Nikon people why their lenses were less expensive than Leica’s.  The Nikon rep was much more gracious than my question.  Most of the price difference, he explained, reflected the cost of labor in Japan as compared to West Germany.  He conceded that some of Leica’s lenses were brilliant.  “But,” he went on, “you can’t assume that Leica lenses are superior at every focal length.  Some Nikkors are unique.”

 

My experience has proven his words.  I have two lenses made during the same period:  a Nikkor 105mm AI and a Leitz Tele-Elmarit 90mm.  I cannot say the Leica is better.  I have never used a current 28mm Leica lens, but I can't imagine its surpassing Nikon’s 28mm 2.8 AIS. 

 

Some people claim that Leica’s lenses will give you medium-format quality on 35mm film.  That, again based on my experience, is untrue.  My newest Leica glass does not give me the quality of a Zeiss Planar on 6x6cm film.  Does Leica give you something between 35mm and medium format?  Yes, to an extent--and that extent may be ten to fifteen percent above "regular" 35mm. 

 

Where do I get the numbers?  I once met a professional photographer in Connecticut.  He had conducted an experiment:  shooting the same scene on the same day with Nikon, Leica, Canon, and Minolta equipment, and developing the film himself.  And the result?  The Leica shots were noticeably better, and the other cameras gave identical results.  How much better were the Leica shots?  Ten or fifteen percent, he estimated. 

 

I don’t know which lenses he used in his experiment, but his estimate of the percentages has been echoed by other photographers I have talked to:  ten to fifteen percent. 

 

That opens a can of worms about the definition of “better.”  And even if you resolve that issue, you have to ask if Leica lenses have always been better.  I have no answers here, but will quit prefacing and describe what I have learned in the field.

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