Book Review: NASA Graphics Standards Manual

Graphic designers Jesse Reed and Hamish Smyth have been busy. In addition to their day jobs as associate partners at iconic design firm Pentagram, they have been reprinting and reissuing old and seemingly mundane graphics standards manuals – guides made by designers and issued to clients to establish unity and consistency across visual communications – in sumptuous new editions.

First was the pair’s reissue of the New York City Transit Authority’s Graphics Standards Manual, Massimo Vignelli’s and Bob Noorda’s iconic and comprehensive redesign of the New York subway signage and identity. An original ring binder version of the manual was was found in, of all places, a basement locker at Pentagram. Reed and Smyth immediately recognised its brilliance not only as a functional manual, but as a piece of design in its own right. After scanning the manual page-by-page and presenting it online, they crowdfunded a limited print edition which lovingly (and accurately) reproduced the original manual better than ever. Like many major projects of this scale, the politics behind the project is often just as interesting as the designs themselves. The NYCTA Manual is no exception, with the long, storied history of Vignelli and Noorda’s work the subject of Christopher Bonanos’s fascinating essay included with the crowdfunded print edition.

Now the pair have turned their sights heavenward with a reissue of the NASA Graphics Standards Manual – the source of the famous (or infamous) red “worm” logo. In 1974, Richard Danne and Bruce Blackburn of firm Danne & Blackburn responded to a request from NASA for a corporation-wide rebranding. This rebranding was part of an ambitious effort sponsored by the federal government to improve and, importantly, humanise government agencies; a project creatively named the Federal Graphics Improvement Program.

(L–R) NASA Seal 1958–present; NASA insignia (the "meatball") 1958–1975, 1992–present; NASA logotype (the "worm") 1975–1992

Since the late 1950s, NASA used its famous (again, or infamous) “meatball” logo, consisting of heavy serifed letters, a space capsule orbiting the letters, a red arrow and various other symbolic iconography. It was (and remains) complex, difficult to accurately reproduce and was not designed for a technological era where computers were playing a greater part in reproduction of designed elements. Fax machines and photocopiers couldn’t reproduce it properly and it looked terrible at smaller sizes. Design wise, it was a corny mess of comic elements unbefitting of the most forward-looking agency in the world. Such a design would not do; it could not do.

I won’t go into too much detail about the life and times of Danne & Blackburn’s masterful creation – Bonanos’s included essay again does a much better job at that – except to say that while the logo (and associated graphics standards) was and remains a thing of beauty, many at NASA hated it. By 1992, the new administrator Dan Goldin decree that everything old would be new again, and the meatball was reinstated as the official NASA logo. The worm would be nothing more than an experimental interregnum, irrevocably bound up with disasters, like Challenger, of 1980s NASA. The future was now the past and the only way forward was backwards, to hark back to the golden era of NASA and the Apollo programme. Or so it might have remained had our über design nerds Reed and Smyth not given the NASA Graphics Standards Manual the same tender, loving and caring reproduction they had done with the NYCTA manual.

Which brings us to the reproduction itself. First off, it is an object of extreme beauty. The book just oozes quality and Reed and Smyth’s passion for not only this manual but for book design in general is evident from every facet of the delivered physical object. The book arrived packaged in a “static shielding” pouch; a shiny sheath that couldn’t be any more “space age” short of being launched on a shuttle and returned to Earth. It’s also a material that would be immediately familiar to anyone who has worked with computer components that come sealed in such a material when new to avoid damage from electrostatic discharge. Very suitable for this book.

Upon removing the book from said shiny pouch, we are treated to the worm in all its red glory. Interestingly, the red is only specified as “solid red plus solid yellow”, but each copy of the original Manual included a page of “NASA Red” perforated swatches to send to printers and designers to match, a page lovingly reproduced in this reprint, although sadly not perforated!

The opening pages are given over to a forward from designer Richard Danne and the aforementioned essay from Christopher Bonanos – both detailed and necessary contributions that add a great deal of context and value to the manual that follows.

Each page of the manual has been reproduced in the best possible quality, but remains unaltered. It is presented exactly as it would have been seen in its original form: recto printed with the hole-punched edges visible on each page. Even the tabbed dividers are reproduced in full. What was most surprising were the fold out pages, the first of which featured a large grid drawing of the worm for large applications. It’s a great throwback to the pre-desktop publishing era when such sheets were indispensable for accurate, reproducible design. It took me back to the lettering books that were all the rage with us kids in the early 1990s, before WordArt came along and destroyed literally everything good about desktop design. There is little I hate more than Microsoft Word and I will curse it with my dying breath.

But I digress, these fold out pages – all ten of them – are quite something. Each provides important details for application of the identity, from an introduction to layout grids, to how building signage should look and even to the worm’s placement on the space shuttle. Sploosh.

The final few pages feature reproductions of the initial presentation given by Richard Danne and Bruce Blackburn to NASA executives in 1974. These pages stand out as they are printed on full-bleed black. The quality of the printing and the stocks is exceptional. This is a striking design choice, evoking the feeling of sitting in a darkened (and probably smoke-filled) room and seeing these 35mm transparencies projected before you. Well played, Reed and Smyth.

As mentioned in Bonanos’s essay, this meeting resulted in Danne & Blackburn winning the job, but also at this very early stage, perhaps revealed hints of NASA management simply not getting the design. When the designers asked for the executives’ feedback, Richard Danne recalls one exchange between NASA administrator Dr. James Fletcher and his deputy Dr. George Low:

Fletcher: “I'm simply not comfortable with those letters. Something is missing.”
Low: “Well, yes, the cross stroke is gone from the letter A.”
Fletcher: “Yes, and that bothers me.”
Low: “Why?”
Fletcher: [Long pause] “I just don't feel we are getting our money's worth!”

And then, a few minutes later:

Fletcher: “And this color, red, it doesn't make much sense to me.”
Low: “What would be better?”
Fletcher: “Blue makes more sense ... Space is blue.”
Low: “No, Dr. Fletcher, space is black!”

Anyone who has presented new ideas to managers would probably recognise an exchange of this sort. Even NASA ain't immune to that shit.

As a visual identity document, the Graphics Standards Manual is comprehensive. It lays out virtually every possible usage of the worm logotype. Most importantly for a document of this sort, it is accessible to the design layperson, even (or especially) if that person is literally a rocket scientist. In fact this is one of the great mysteries of the worm saga: why many at NASA, people who literally built the technology of the future, never took to this futuristic logo.

There was a strong amateur graphic design ethos at NASA: each mission patch was designed by the astronauts themselves and even the original NASA seal and meatball was designed by an amateur, James Modarelli, the head of Lewis Research Center’s Reports Division. To these rocket scientists (and engineers and physicists and chemists and administrators and comptrollers etc.), NASA’s logo isn’t about a consistent corporate identity, in fact such a concept is anathema to such a group. It was about something more human: the NASA family. Sure, the meatball was corny, but it was homely, and had been there through the good times and the bad.

For if you're ever confused where to put your worm on your Hubble Space Telescope

If that’s the case, then this whole Graphics Standards Manual speaks to an even more exciting time, when creating a new identity meant creating a new purpose: reshaping the future. The worm really speaks to the power and the optimism of design that is lost in today’s constant churn in identity and design (ugh...Instagram, what have you done..??!!).

Reed and Smyth have done a tremendous public service by reissuing this manual. It’s not just about good design, it’s about the potential for design to change things for the better. However, design can’t exist in a vacuum (ha), as the restoration of the meatball demonstrates. Design is subject to the whims of humans, just as it is reliant on those same people for its creation and implementation. Design needs humans and even the best design can be brought down by the people who created it.

Pages of typefaces make Richard happy

Interestingly, just as Reed and Smyth were working with Richard Danne to publish their reproduction of the Graphics Standards Manual, NASA released the original in PDF format on their website. Coincidence? I doubt it. Methinks there may be some passionate design nerds at NASA who would dearly love to see the worm back, and this was one way to honour the work of Danne & Blackburn.

Naturally, people inside and outside of NASA have very strong feelings about their logo. NASA is no normal agency – ask me my feelings on ATO or ASIC corporate identity and I will struggle to give you two shits – it is an agency which stokes the imaginations of entire generations around the world. To me, the worm is NASA. It’s what I drew on space shuttles and fantastical spacecraft of the imagination as a kid, even though the worm had been confined to the design dumpster of history a couple of years earlier. It’s the identity of the NASA I saw popular culture growing up: in movies such Flight of the Navigator and Space Camp (don’t judge me); in hours of documentaries, and pages upon pages of books and news stories. I was and remain a gigantic space nerd and there was nothing in my experience more futuristic than the four letters of the worm.

But now everything old is new again, and as comes with so much of today’s thoughtless appropriation of the past, we praise the past with little thought for the future. As the terminator of the worm, administrator Dan Goldin said when reinstating the meatball in 1992, “the magic is back at NASA”. Sadly, I reckon it was on its way out.

The Worm: 1975–1992. Forever in our hearts and imaginations.

National Aeronautics and Space Administration Graphics Standards Manual
Published by National Aeronautics and Space Administration, 1975
Reproduction by Jesse Reed and Hamish Smyth
Published by Standards Manual, LLC, 2015

ISBN: 9780692586532

Extent: 220pp
Hardcover, case-bound, with silver static shielding (plastic polyethylene terephthalate) pouch

A Magazine from Blurb

In my last post, I spoke about my most recent experience producing a Blurb photo book as a family album. The album was of a very high quality, however the price was on the high side. If you want you photographs in print (which you absolutely should) there is another option.

In addition to photo books, Blurb also offers other book formats including trade paperbacks (best for text) and magazines. While the magazines don't have quite the print quality of the dedicated photo books, they offer a cheaper alternative for getting your photos printed and bound.

This is the option I took at the end of 2015. With the (very) recent arrival of our first son, I knew time and money for gifts would be at a premium for Christmas. So I prepared a magazine with photographs from the previous 12 months to give to family, with space for one very important 6x4 of our new arrival at the back, who came just too late to be included in the magazine proper.

Although the images from 2015 were more fresh in my mind than previous years, it was no less rewarding going through my catalogue, reassessing previously discarded images, and building a good selection of images. Once again, I undertook the magazine layout in Adobe InDesign, affording me much more design flexibility than with Blurb's own in-house software (I must stress though that Blurb's own software is thoroughly decent if you just want to make a basic photo book from a selection of photographs. But if you have any Adobe skillz at all, InDesign is worth the effort).

140 pages later, I had a magazine. 140 pages may stretch the definition of "magazine", but Blurb's print services can handle it and that's all that matters. Oh that and the familial reception. They loved it; it spawned the usual "oh Richard it looks so professional you should do this for a living because it's so professional" question/statements that ignore the practicalities of profitable publishing. My 104-year-old grandmother sits it proudly on her table, telling me every time how much she "thoroughly enjoys" reading it.


It's nice to have an appreciative audience.

And it's nice to have a physical thing. Yada yada yada, DIGITAL DARK AGE, yada yada yada. No shit, you will lose your shit at some point. Shit being your bits and bytes of data. Either through neglect or nefariousness. A physical printed thing is a hedge against that.

Besides, a physical product like this one is pleasurable to read again and again. You don't read them every day, but it's much nicer flicking through them and reminiscing than swiping through 12,397 images on your tablet/smartphone of choice.

REPENT

REPRINT!

A Photo Book from Blurb

It is difficult to overstate the importance of the physical object in the digital age. As a photographer, that means the importance of the print. The ephemeral nature of data means that already many of our memories and much of our information – that used to be physical – have disappeared. Some are already warning of the "digital dark age", an age where there has never been a greater saturation of recording devices and data, yet we have never been at greater risk of losing it all forever.

This is why it has never been more important to print. Print isn't forever, but it's for a damnside longer than data. Data comes and goes, data becomes corrupted, data gets deleted, reformatted, rendered obsolete by the march of progress (and of marketing departments). A print may get torn or creased or scratched or fade, but there is usually still something left to be seen, to be interpreted. A fragment that is not a slave to the technology of the day. All you need is vision and light. That is why I have been making a concerted effort recently to make more physical things, both photographic prints and photo books.

Blurb is a well-known provider of print-on-demand book publishing services, particularly targeted at one-off publications such as family albums and low-volume photo books. I am a regular user of Blurb, having printed my first book with them back in 2011. Since then I've printed books with a variety of papers and bindings for a variety of purposes. Some have been consciously "professional" photo books, others have more family album-oriented in their content.

It has not always been smooth sailing with Blurb, however. Their print quality back when I first started using them left a lot to be desired, and I've had to return two books because of printing blemishes and errors. But when these problems have occurred, the customer service has always been excellent and rectified the problem promptly.

Most recently, I've been taking the time to collate my vast catalogue of digital images and print something of a yearly album. This most recent album covers almost exclusively 2011. I am trying to give each its own personality, reflecting some of the content inside the album. In this most recent publication's case, it was a year spent mostly at home with study occupying most of my time. Hence the Melway-inspired cover (colours and patterns of the 1993 edition, one my dad kept for far too long in his 1981 Ford Laser).

The downside to Blurb is that they are not particularly cheap. Luckily, they have regular vouchers offering up to 40% off. While these offer good value, I would think these vouchers have conditioned customers to wait until the next promo code comes around to upload and order their books.

Book making is a great experience, however you do it. It is particularly rewarding going back through the archives and discovering photographs you don't remember taking. Indeed it's difficult to resist reopening old files and making new edits. Sometimes you look at a photo just shake your head and think to yourself "what was I thinking!?". This tinkering can be good and bad, although even with years more experience, I found myself more often than not keeping the old edits.

The Digital Dark Age is upon us.

Repent!

Or should I say...REPRINT!

P.S. the book pictured above is not available publicly on Blurb, it's a Richard-only special

A Skeptical Approach to Cameras or: An Ode to the Leica M4-2

Leica M4-2 by Andrew J. Cosgriff via Flickr

Originally published at richardmckenzie.com.au/words

If you've gone hunting for a decent hi-fi setup anytime over the past two decades, chances are you have come across publications such as What Hi-Fi or Stereophile and cooed over their adjective-laden reviews of high-end equipment you've never heard of, "must-have" accessories you'll never have and remastered audiophile albums you don't want to repurchase. These reviewers use the abstract and subjective as if they are measurable and quantifiable values; SI units of auditory measurement if you will. You've already settled for the $899 Panasonic job from JB Hi-Fi, but in the world of high-end hi-fi, dCS, Bryston, Continuum and Audioquest are the names to look out for.

"Audiophile" reviewers wax lyrical about an amplifier's "warmth" and "depth", or the improved "image focus" and increased "coherence" of a $750 USB cable, or a CD player's "righteous sense of musical flow". In this rarified world, it is self-evident that a $1190 RCA interconnect (or audio cable to us mere mortals) will produce "superior detail, clarity, timing precision, and image focus" and that such an exotic product – made from "tellurium-copper alloy" no less – is necessary for the best audio experience.

With seeming full sincerity, a $200,000 turntable is rated as possessing a greater "emotional majesty" that "sings" to the reviewer's heart: "When you hear the music [the turntable] lets escape from the grooves," the reviewer claims, "you, too, will be astounded and swept off your feet".

Except for the tiny problem that the vast majority of these reviews are guff. Non-scientific, non-measurable, emotional guff. While most consumer reviews have embraced the quantifiable and objective to test the efficacy of products (Video Card A runs Game B at 64 FPS; Computer X takes 56 sec to render Video Y), audiophile hi-fi regressed to a pre-scientific world view, preferring untestable subjectivity to measurable objectivity.

In the real world, this is simply not acceptable. A rational person, for instance, wouldn't take a drug because a doctor said it had "a more defined sense of certainty" than another. You would demand evidence of the drug's efficacy in comparison to others before swallowing it. Now, hi-fi might not be a matter of life or death, but many otherwise rational people are all-too willing to swallow the homeopathic audiophile hi-fi pill without thinking.

It was easy for me to laugh at the absurdity of high-end hi-fi's claims. I am a skeptic, and fiercely proud of it...but then I realised I had swallowed similar claims when purchasing my camera...

Leica Virgin

My Leica M4 and Voigtländer VCII Meter

It was 2009 and I was about to purchase my first Leica. Few brands are steeped in the as much myth and legend as Leica. Born in Germany, Leicas are regarded by many as the pinnacle of 35mm photography. As with audiophiles, Leica adherents are renowned for their devotion to the brand despite the many shortcomings of the products. Leica cameras and lenses, so the story goes, possess very special qualities not seen in other cameras. This is not entirely guff; objective measures of image quality often give Leica products close to full marks, but there are other less measurable qualities ascribed to Leica products we should be skeptical of.

When it came time to decide on which Leica M body to purchase, opinions were a dime a dozen, but the consensus from the "experts" was that the German-built Leica M4 was superior to the later Canadian-built M4-2 and M4-P models. Why? Do they hate Canadians? No, because according the experts, the Canadian models were constructed to "looser tolerances". What these tolerances were and how they affect one's photography or the operation of the camera is rarely quantified, but I trusted the "expert" opinion, so I avoided the Canadian models and bought a German-built M4.

With the benefit of experience and hindsight, I can now see the whole pro-German M4 thing as little more than a smear on the good name of the Ernst Leitz Canada (ELCAN) factory and its unbelievably talented staff. The amazing inventions and innovations of the ELCAN staff sadly do not receive their due credit in the history of Leica. ELCAN was pushing the technological boundaries of optics at a time when Leitz Wetzlar was focused on merely financial survival. The ELCAN team, led by legendary optical designer Walter Mandler, designed the very first Noctilux lens, envelope-pushing military lenses, IMAX projection lenses and groundbreaking Panavision optics. This was not some second-rate factory, it was the true innovation centre for Leica in the second half of the 20th century, right up until the early 1990s.

The ELCAN M4-2 and M4-P actually saved the Leica M as a product and possibly Leitz (now Leica) as a company. A bit of history: after the successful M4, Leica released the unloved Leica M5. Although it was the most technically advanced Leica M to date, the M5 was a sales flop that caused Leitz to discontinue the M line and focus on SLRs. That's right, the now iconic Leica M product line was discontinued. After the discontinuation, the folks at ELCAN suggested to German management that they could produce a more economical version of the M4 in Canada. Leitz approved a limited number, but demand was greater than expected, thus the M4-2 was born.

So were there actual problems with the M4-2's more "economical" construction? Well, kind of. Like many new products, there were problems with first batches. The viewfinder was more prone to flare than previous models owing to the removal of a condenser, and some metal and brass parts were replaced with plastic parts. In most cases this substitution made no difference, however some parts were demonstrably less robust than their metallic predecessors. Many of the other cost-saving changes were cosmetic or had little effect on the usability of the camera, such as the stamped Leitz name on the top plate (replacing the engraving of previous models) or the removal of the self-timer (I've used mine once).

What of "looser tolerances"? Production methods did actually change. The time consuming "adjust and fit" method of bespoke production was substituted for a more modern and economical production line mode of manufacture. Thus the tolerance claims are true to a certain extent, although the effect on the final product was minimal. This was a new workforce building a new camera on a new production line and what mistakes they made were quickly rectified. And don't forget that all the tooling to build the M4 was transferred from Wetzlar to Canada – that's no small task so it would be more of a shock if there weren't issues. These cost-cutting measures, practical though they were, add up in some minds to the Leica M4-2 being somehow a "lesser" Leica than the German-built models that preceded it, even though today, a well-kept Canadian M4-2 or M4-P operates just as reliably as any other Leica.

I asked a photographer friend of mine, Andrew Cosgriff for his thoughts on using the Leica M4-2 and the German-built Leica M6: "The truth (for me) was that it still felt like everything a Leica was meant to feel like. You could sit there and wind it all day, because it felt so good. I loved how the M4-2 had absolutely no extraneous features, compared to other cameras I owned, most of which seemed to have a few extra knobs and dials that I never found myself using."

And of the obviously superior German-built M6? Did it feel better because Germany?

"Nope. Winding it on felt just as good, and the meter was a convenience (now, 4 years later, a crutch) rather than a necessity. Both of them are still Leicas, and for me they both exude the qualities we’ve come to expect from that name."

And this is where we should take a moment to step back from inherited opinions that are told and retold enough for them to become fact. A photograph is not only the product of a camera, it's the lens, the chosen medium and most importantly, the person behind the camera. It is highly-unlikely that the camera body will be the weakest link in the process that is photography. Sure, you may be affected by the "cost-cutting" roots of the Leica M4-2, that somehow it's not a "real" Leica, but I would suggest that's more in your head than in the product.

Similarly with hi-fi equipment, the biggest change you can make to improve your audio experience is to fix up your listening environment, not demagnitise your discs and replace all of your audio cables with unobtanium-plated interconnects. Alas, there's no $1400 product to sell to support the moving of speakers a few feet one way or another (although I'm sure there are a few less-scrupulous companies out there willing to give it a try...have you heard of the BS Technology Pro Grip Finger Protectors FAP-1020 that discharge dangerous static before coming into contact with your precious hi-fi equipment?).

Above the din of their scorn, many Leicaphiles forget that without the M4-2 and M4-P, Leica might not exist today. ELCAN designed and produced the finest rangefinder lenses and kept the Leica M line alive at a time when its German parent company wanted little to do with such outmoded technology. Yes, there were differences with the construction of the M4-2 compared to previous models and, yes, some of the changes were designed to cut costs, but a good M4-2 is no less usable than a good M4. Leica's focus on SLRs would eventually falter, with their R SLR cameras never achieving the same prominence (or sales) as the Leica M lineup. Leica finally discontinued the R series in 2009; the M series continues strongly to this day. Had Leica given up entirely on the M, the company probably wouldn't be around today.

The more economic methods of production perfected in Canada informed the creation of the Leica M6 and helped allow production to finally move back to Germany in the 1980s. Today, the Leica M forms the core of a resurgent Leica Camera AG, thanks in large part to the foresight and passion of Leitz workers at the ELCAN factory who kept the iconic rangefinder alive.

I've learned my lesson. Next time, I'll be a bit more skeptical of the received wisdom of the internets, of forum users with 10,000+ posts and of claims without assertions. Had I followed this course of action in 2009, I might have saved myself quite a bit of money. Should I need to replace my M4 for whatever reason, I'll be more than happy to "take the risk" with a Leica M4-2 and ELCAN's wares...just like the US Navy did, just like the US Army did, just like Panavision did, just like IMAX did and just like Leitz did.

--

Thanks to Andrew for his musings on the Leica M4-2 and M6 cameras. You can see more of his awesome photography on Flickr.

The inspiration for this article came, in part, from Peter Johansen's post A Brief Guide to Audio for the Skeptical Consumer on his blog Numeral Nine Music and Audio.

For an overview on the amazing accomplishments of the ELCAN operation, take a look at Ernst Leitz Canada Limited on the LEICA Barnack Berek Blog.

Notes: It is incredibly difficult to find advertising materials for the Leica M4-2. I have a few brochures in my collection for the M4-P, but none for the Leica M4-2. The internet wasn't much help either, I could not find a single digitised ad for the M4-2. Sad face.

Plus-sized models: A few weeks with the iPhone 6 Plus (zomg unboxing video review)

Not every iPhone is used in a geometrically perfect, sterile white environment

The internet is full of conceited people who write conceited reviews of products and/or services in order to attract people to click on their content. For some, they believe a stinging critique of a particular popular product, like some form of digital tall-poppy syndrome, will render their own abilities (and web address hits) large.

I want to do no such thing. Instead of regurgitation of statistics and superfluous "feels nice in the hand" generalities, I am here to engage in a blitzkrieg of pith and (conceited) wit not for hits, but for my own gratification. Here goes.

The iPhone 6 Plus is rather large.

After owning it for a month, it no longer feels large and everything else feels small.

Its screen is 1920x1080 (or something), but due a deliberate quirk, renders everything at 2208×1242 before scaling down on the fly. Clever, but inelegant. Thus it feels a bit like a stop-gap in search of a higher-resolution screen (iPhone 6 IIs Plus S anyone?)

iOS 8 should more accurately be called iOSHATE for the feelings it engenders in the user community. I don't need to hang out in no support forums to know it's shit. (zomg appl its a knowen fawlt)

Safari crashes more than Mr Magoo on ice. And fuck me sideways, get rid of the fucking transition animations. Whether it's the PowerPoint-esque ICONS FLYING EVERYWHERE WOW, or the SOFT DISSOLVE (which is what happens when you turn off transitions), the phone feels more lethargic than Clive Palmer after walking up a flight of stairs.

iOSHATE is a generally buggy experience that transcends the specific nature of bugs and faults Apple and software engineers need for diagnosis reason. It's just shit.

Sadly, it's the first new iPhone I've owned that doesn't feel snappy. In the past, installing, say iOS 6 on an iPhone 4 meant dealing with frustrating slowness until a new phone came out. Then, whatever the new phone was, felt snappy and responsive. Now, the iPhone 6 Plus and iOSHATE feel slow from the outset.

For all these flaws, it's a great looking phone and the screen is very nice, notwithstanding the scaling workaround implemented by Apple. But enough of pleasant generalisations. Who wants those? Not me.

Plustek Opticfilm 120 Review: Plustek, interrupted

Yep, it's big

A few days back I mentioned I had added a Plustek Opticfilm 120 to my "photographic arsenal". I then managed to share a couple of Hasselblad negs I had managed to scan while learning the ropes of the obscurantist software suite called Silverfast. I was excited to have the ability to scan medium format film with good results.

I continued scanning my Hasselblad black and whites happily until I reached a colour roll where the top half of the image was blue sky. I scanned those negs in and discovered a strange coloured streaking. Initially thinking it could be either at artefact of processing or the camera, I tried another colour roll and the same thing happened.

The streaks, while light, were definitely visible. And they impacted on the whole image.

Coloured streaking running vertically throughout the images, in addition to a large band of discolouration on the far right-hand side

This was alarming. Could my camera be damaging my negatives in some way? Have I been getting shoddy processing since forever?

To eliminate the film as the cause of the problems, I cut out a single frame and rotated it 90º. If the coloured streaking rotated with the film, then it was the film's fault. If it stayed in the same direction as the scanning mechanism, then it sure as hell wasn't the film. Sadly, this was the result:

After cutting the single frame and rotating it 90º, the streaking now runs horizontally. If it had been on the film, it would have stayed in the same direction as the first image

A quick scan (pun intended, sorry) of the Opticfilm 120 Flickr group revealed one other person having the same problem, although apparently being given short shrift by Plustek Germany. Note to Plustek: this is a problem and other customers are having it, so please don't dismiss this fault as "unique" to one person. No, it's not the individual's electricity supply, no it's not the film, no it's not the software, no it's not the alignment of Mercury and Venus at the Autumnal equinox - it's the scanner hardware.

Unfortunately I've now had to return the scanner for a refund. The local distributor suggested I send it back for a service, but after only having a new scanner for 4 days, that's simply not an acceptable option. I'm now waiting, again, for new stock.

The Good

Let me say this first: the initial results I received from this scanner were top notch. My black and white 6x6s looked stunning and were incredibly detailed. My colour images, where sky was not present (or not a large portion of the image) also looked stunning. Even with my (and many others') whinging about Silverfast, I found it fairly simple to get good results from the scanner straight out of the box.

State Library of Victoria - Kodak T-Max 100

Getting a Hold(er) on Things
For once, we have (and I had) a scanner that comes (came) with proper film holders, instead of the crud Nikon sent out with their enduringly popular Coolscans. They are three times heavier and immeasurably more rugged than even the best Coolscan carriers. Plustek's magnetic latch design is simply magic and it's clear a lot of thought went it to them, except for the 6x6 holder which doesn't always fit three frames in perfectly (the middle frame distance isn't adjustable).

But the 6x6 holder is an irritant, a mild irritant that can be worked around. I've worked with NikonScan and shoddy Nikon film holders for 6 years, I know what irritating scanning is like. Unfortunately, I can't live with a fundamentally broken scanner.

Now this might strike you as a bit of a whinge: it's a broken product, I've got a refund, what am I complaining about? Well, it's that I would happily - more than happily - take another Opticfilm 120, but there aren't any in the country and probably won't be for months.

Responses
I'm not fussed by a faulty product, that happens all the time. Working in retail, I know that faults, whilst frustrating, do not make or break a situation, it's the response that matters. Plustek's US representative has been very active in discussion forums and social media regarding the problems the Opticfilm 120 has been having. This is to be applauded and more companies should follow this lead (*cough* Nikon D600 *uncough*).

But after various reports of problems on the internets (and yes I know that is rarely an accurate gauge, but in this case I think it's valid) I don't have faith in Plustek's quality control on this product. Plustek has already halted shipments once, after a problem with lens alignment or some such and now, almost 18 months after its initial announcement, it's still yet to come into steady supply.

As I understand it, the initial delay was due to the original CCD supplier (that formerly large company from Rochester, NY) being sold. Not much Plustek could do about that. And credit to Plustek for admitting there was an issue with the lens/focal plane alignment and fixing it. But as quickly as one problem is fixed, it seems another arises.

Prospects
I've survived almost 6 years with my Nikon Coolscan 5000ED and (NikonScan notwithstanding) it hasn't missed a beat. With Nikon no longer producing Coolscans and second-hand prices going through the roof, there is no one else out there making affordable, quality film scanners.

If I do choose to get another Opticfilm 120, I can test my replacement model to see if it has the same streaking problem straight away, that's not an issue. The real issue is the long term: how reliable is it? Will it be able to be serviced if there is a problem? Will Plustek still be around in almost 6 years' time? Or will I be left with a unwieldy paperweight on my desk?

For example, if I buy a DSLR today, I can be fairly certain if it's broken or lost in 5 years' time, I will be able to purchase a superior replacement. Not so with a film scanner; longevity and reliability is very important. If Plustek QC lets an obvious error through, what other overlooked problems might rear their ugly heads years down the track? When your warranty is toast and your film shooting days rendered over?

That's a frightening thought. I'm almost more willing to play Russian Roulette with a used Coolscan 9000ED at reasonable price (is that an oxymoron?), but hold out hope the Opticfilm 120 will return to the fold.

I'll be back?
There is clearly a great scanner waiting to break out, one which blows away all of the competition currently available brand-new. Credit to Plustek for sticking with this model and producing a product that while has some demand, is clearly not a mass-market product. Photographers appreciate that no-end, Plustek.

Hopefully one day soon, I'll be able to do a full and proper review of this product, but until Plustek get their quality control in order, the Opticfilm 120 is likely to stay an untrusted white elephant.