Minolta Minoltina P

This is one of the cameras that make you want to work for them. Yeah.

So, I'm not the best at estimating distance. I like the zone focusing cameras with goofy childlike icons of a human head, three people and mountains on the lens because they generally help make sure I know what I'm doing and kinda make the experience a tiny bit more fun than it already is. When it comes to being precise with measuring distances, though, I prefer to relay on a rangefinder or a prism giving me real time visual cues, you know. With viewfinder cameras things become more tricky.

The Look

Minoltina P is one such tricky camera. It's also very beautiful and weirdly modern looking despite coming from the 1960s and staying within contemporary design principles. I mean look at the current in vogue gear like Fuji X100V. Someone was looking around when they designed it. I swear there's the same blood in their veins, esthethically speaking. And also, the lens is a pancake. Who doesn't love pancakes.

Also...

There are a lot of alsos to this camera.  It's also quirky. Nothing is indicated in the viewfinder: not the exposure and not the goofy icons that are there too, but not where you'd expect them to be. Instead of their usual dwelling on the lens or in the viewfinder, they reside on top of the camera, in one box with the match needle exposure meter. There is another needle that's synchronised with the lens, and it indicates whether you're shooting someone with a very round head, a congregation of three people of descending heights, one of them waving, or a mountain with two trees and three keyholes at the bottom. You are not allowed to shoot any other subjects, the lens simply won't focus on them. There is also regular distance indication in meters AND feet on the lens, each on the other side of the lens. There is no depth of field scale anywhere. You got a headache already? This camera is a little nuts. But it works.

Handling?

Perhaps not so much in operation because that can be a bit of a yikes with looking back and forth at top plate and lens then back in viewfinder to frame your picture while your subject of someone with a very round head got tired of waiting and left. Personally, I mostly relayed on setting the lens to hyperfocal while guesstimating exposure. The camera operates on semi-automatic exposure anyway, via EV scale (8-17) that you set on the lens, so you go with the approximate number and call it a day. Well, I do. The selenium meter on mine, while reacting to light, would have been underexposing by over 2 full stops, which, on the one hand, could be corrected by setting appropriate ISO, but on the other, I wouldn't trust it in low light anyway, so.

So yeah, it's super pleasant to look at and hold as it's just the right size and weight, and the lens has clicks at crucial distances, and who doesn't like clicky lenses. But it's a bit of a chore to use as intended. So it's probably better to use it the way you want to. Which I did. Which meant many of my photos were less than stellar in terms of sharpness, because I wasn't using the help of goofy icons and my ability to tell whether something is within 1,2 m or 1,5 m can be iffy. Is iffy. Is just bad, okay? Don't get me started on things below 1 m. 

Hold on though, because here's something I did not expect from this camera, and that's the... well, the opposite of a deal breaker, whatever that is.

The Lens

I had some honest fun taking shortcuts around this camera's intended pathway, but thought it a bit tedious when projecting long term use. In my mind, I was ready to put it on a shelf and later sell. That was until I saw the photos. It is now a keeper.

The Rokkor is a 2.8/38mm lens. Neither extremly fast, nor extremly interesting. I mean, that's not a focal length I'm especially excited for, as it's so much of an in-between thing. Not 35, and definitely not 28, but not 50 either to be anything in particular. The roundabouts of 35mm usually mean not much interesting is happening in terms of bokeh and out of focus areas. What these kinds of lenses don't have in terms of poetic, they try to make up in being sharp. Sometimes. Or not. It doesn't really matter. Like, Olympus XA has neither, really, and it's a cult classic. 

Well, the Rokkor has both.

It's extremly sharp. If you can focus it right, it beats any other camera of similar age and build that I've used. Bold claim, don't chop my head off for it, I've not used every camera made in the 1960s. But, if nothing else, the last photo in the set below is a clear example of that. I missed the focus where I wanted it, but it fell square on that bottle and dear me, I could cut myself on that.

And, it has lovely, rounded (tho a bit squashed, so more dynamic), shimmery bokeh. I don't really know how this lens does it, and I don't think it should. But when I saw the little lights in the background all happy and well defined like tiny faeries, I knew this one is staying. It's the combo I especially enjoy in a lens: sharp sharps and poetic blurs. I know, nothing special about the preference itself, but this lens is it, and that's that.

Bottom line

While it can be a bit clunky to use, it's incredibly pretty and it has The Lens, oh my dog. I will work and train myself to match it in its precision, and we will make a beautiful team for years to come. Thus spoke I.

Okay, so the usual, and more serious stuff: if you can get it, should you? I think if this Rokkor's aesthetic value is something you can make good use of, then you should. If it's not speaking to you as much as it does to me, I'd say you really don't have to bother. It's a cute camera, and a pretty rare one, but there's plenty more that are easier to use, more reliable (selenium meter, I'm looking at you) and if you don't feel like jumping through hoops each time you take a photo, maybe this one is not for you. If you like a challenge and find the limitations interesting (EV scale semi-automatism), I say go for it. For collectors, this is definitely a modern looking shelf queen.