Life has many existential questions and then some simple annoyances: why is the built-in WiFi in so many cameras so terrible? My Sony a6300 requires QR codes, wireless connections, and clunky built-in applications (as well has having the even more kludgy Sony PlayMemories application on the receiving device). Sometimes the simplest solution is not proprietary, and that is where we come to wireless SD (actually SDXC) cards.
Eyefi was a Finnish company that pioneered the idea of the wifi-enabled SD card. The idea was to make a small card that had a short-range 802.11 connection that could interface to a computer. Before long, the focus became transmitting to handheld devices.
In theory, all wireless cards count on the tolerance of a camera for staying powered up until disk operations are finished. In practical terms, this means that the wifi component in the card is activated by reading or writing a certain amount of data to the card, and the camera does not go to sleep until the transmission is complete (or some number of minutes passes, and the camera says “enough is enough!”).
Eyefi was not a tremendously easy system to set up on a handheld because it installs a WiFi profile (ID and password). This required you to enter a code on the back of the box into the handheld application, have your phone install the profile, go to WiFi settings, connect to the Eyefi card (assuming it is powered on) and then activate the Eyefi Mobi application.
From there, and assuming you were out in the wild, and your handheld could not see any other networks to which it could auto-connect, it would automatically connect to the Eyefi card. You would have to launch the Eyefi app to get transfers to start.
In general, the Eyefi setup worked (and works), except for a few caveats:
- It is difficult to reconfigure the cards for a new device if you lose the activation code, and it is not straightforward to recover them (you used to have to email Eyefi customer service).
- The configuration on the pro cards (transmit raw files and video or neither) required work with the hellishly ungainly Eyefi desktop application, which was a solution looking for a problem (if you are at your computer, why would you need to wirelessly transmit data to it?)
- Eyefi cards were (and are) pretty hard on camera batteries.
- Eyefi cards never got fast enough for intolerant cameras like Leica Digital Ms, especially the Typ 240 and its siblings, which really don’t like cards that can’t do at least 60mb/sec write speed (which generally means a 90mb/sec read speed – what they show on the box as the “speed”).
The Eyefi Mobi and Mobi Pro cards were a bit easier. The orange Mobi only transmits JPGs (you need to plug it into an SD reader to get RAW), and the black Mobi Pro would transmit both. But the speed still maxed out at Class 10, still not fast enough for a Leica, where sometimes they work, sometimes they don’t, and when they don’t, they lock up the camera until you remove the battery.
Eyefi’s reorg, Toshiba, and Keenai
The Eyefi situation, oddly, changed for the better with the reorganization of the company. The technology end (the patents) went to Toshiba. Keenai took over the software end and designed a (free) mobile application that far more reliably connected to the card and downloaded pictures far faster. While on paper, the deal between the companies was cross-licensing, the reality is that Eyefi cards are out of print.
Toshiba took over with its FlashAir series where Eyefi left off. True to Japanese corporate form, it put out its own clunky (and frankly indecipherable) handheld application. FlashAir. To its credit, the application allows you to see thumbnails (JPG and pink boxes for RAW) that allow you to selectively pull (as opposed to having the card push) files. This avoids the usual wait for the good shots while the card pushes all of your bloopers to your handheld.
The FlashAir W-04 (the current model, for some reason only available in Asia – in the U.S., you get the W-03 – but you can buy the W-04 all day on Ebay…) is in many ways better than the Eyefi Mobi Pro.
First, it skips the activation codes and profiles and lets you just punch in an 8-digit password (which you can change via the handheld app) when you connect to its wireless signal. I would not recommend changing this password because the risk of someone in your immediate proximity stealing your images is far smaller than the risk of forgetting the password and bricking the card.
Second, on Keenai, it is zero-configuration. It sees the phone is connected to a FlashAir card, and then it goes to town downloading everything (JPG and RAW). I think the assumption is that your phone will only be connected to one card at a time.
Third, the Toshiba cards seem to eat batteries less, although the effective range seems shorter. I am still testing this, but that kind of tradeoff would not at all be surprising.
Finally, the W-04 transfers about twice as fast as the Eyefi over WiFi, and its card write speed (UHS-3, which I measure at 63.3Mb/sec write speed) is high enough even to be reliable with the finicky Leica Ms. This actually makes them useful even when you don’t need WiFi connectivity. Speeds (as tested by me through the iMac 5K’s built-in card reader)
- Flashair W-04 (64mb/sec write, 88mb/sec read)
- Eyefi Mobi Pro 32 (17mb/sec write, 19 mb/sec read)
- Eyefi Mobi 32 (18mb/sec write, 19mb/sec read)
- For reference, a Samsung Pro non wireless card (rated 80/90) runs at 64/88.
…so as you can see, “Class 10” covers a lot of territory (basically 10mb/sec and up)
There are two last annoyances.
One is that iOS devices are hostile to the idea of strict priority lists for wireless. At home or work – where your handheld would be connected to a permanent network, you would want EyeFi or FlashAir cards to trump the local Wifi when they are active (since they are only active for shooting or file transfer). This is not a problem inherent to the cards themselves, but it makes using them less fun.
Second, wireless host programs like to store downloaded images in their own purgatory rather than dumping them all directly into your iOS photos storage. This means that you end up storing two copies of some (or all) pictures, eating into onboard storage. This actually is within the province of Keenai to fix.
With the maturation of wirelsss SD card card technology and of editing programs like Lightroom CC mobile, you can now actually get more done in more places. And yes, they even work with Sony cameras.
The Multifunction Handgrip M (14495), $895, is a depressing piece of hardware. It’s not the price or the alleged GPS slowness. It’s the depressing feeling that like a lot of things, the M camera reached its highest point of elaboration and now is on the path of decontenting that hit a lot of other types of consumer electronics.
Hello and goodbye. The story of this product is wrapped up with the M typ 240 (and its cousins the M-E 262 and Monochrom 246). The 240 was a watershed moment for Leica – the first time the M had actually become functional like other people’s cameras. It signaled a few firsts:
- Video. Not the best HD video ever, but with the new EVF(!) it was passable.
- Audio input. Plus it actually had a way to get audio into the camera! But no EVF and mic adapter at the same time. In every life, some rain must fall.
- A digital horizon that operated in 3 dimensions (so it could detect pitch and roll).
- A high capacity battery.
- A function button on the front that could trigger exposure compensation adjustments or viewfinder magnification.
How many of these features made it to the M10? The front button. Now let’s see where the Multifunction Handgrip takes you:
- GPS. Every want to auto-tag your photos with the location?
- SCA flash connector. Now you can connect to a flash via a metal plugged-cord or a standard PC outlet.
- AC connector. Now you can run your camera on video for the allotted 29 minutes at a time (before the auto shut off).
- USB port for tethered operation (likely why the AC connector is so important).
But then there came the M10, thin like a 90s shoulder pad. No more video. No more need-to-keep-it-level landscape photography (apparently…). Smaller batteries, as if the thrill of living had gone.
Weight? The 14495 adds surprisingly little weight to the M. That’s because everything but the baseplate part is plastic. Naturally, the light grip does not change the balance of the camera, so you need to use brute strength (and grip) to keep big lenses level.
Grip? The ergonomics of this are something that grow on you. At first, you feel like it could be a centimeter taller to accommodate your index finger. But wait – that’s the one you need to press the shutter. It doesn’t take long to adapt to this grip, and it greatly enhances the handling of the camera with huge lenses like the 75/1.4. Every little bit counts, and an M is pretty slippery, even with the little nub grip built into its case.
GPS? It works. Just put your camera in standby, and within a few minutes, it will get a fix. Once it’s running, it seems to be pretty accurate. A lot of people seem to complain that when it loses a signal, it continues to log its last known location. That’s actually beneficial when you go indoors (since you don’t want it to revert to a location in the center of the earth, for example).
“Near-field” communication. You always wanted this on a digital camera, but you didn’t want Android. Well, here you go. To get a wifi signal out of a card (like the Toshiba Flashair, which will be treated in a future installment), you basically need to have your handheld touching the top plate of the camera (which apparently is the most porous surface for radio waves.
Flash. Flash. Flash. So you want to know how well the 14498 SCA setup (another bazillion dollars) works? It consists of a bracket and an extension shoe. The idea of this product is to allow you to move the flash off camera both to enhance balance and to free up the hot shoe for an optical or electronic viewfinder.
The disappointing thing is that there is no vertical grip piece, meaning that your flash head is much closer to the lens axis in landscape mode than you might like. So this works better out of the box with taller flashes like the SF 58 or 64.
The weird thing is the SCA plug, which is both unusual and insanely well built. It probably requires 200 different machining operations. But like the EVF connector, it’s proprietary, meaning that you have exactly one choice for off-camera work. The exit of the cord near the body of the camera body seems weird at first, but after you use it a bit, you wonder why Nikon screwed up so badly with the SC hot-shoe adapters, which have huge cords that on an M camera either end up blocking the viewfinder or getting in your face, literally.
But the good thing with the 14498 is that you can get and use your favorite old Vivitar handgrip – because the extension shoe detaches from the bracket. And can be used without the bracket.
Flash operation is unremarkable (as it should be). You do not get a flash-ready indication in the EVF if you have it attached, and shot to shot lag time is not affected.
Conclusion. The Multifunction Grip M, if you can score one used for under $400, is a pretty good item. At that price, it’s not quite as outrageously expensive as list, and it helps tremendously with heavy lenses. As to the SCA set, it’s a tougher call, unless you can get one for under $200. Where the grip gives you a standard PC connector, you can use any handle-mount auto flash you want (such as a Metz 45 series). Flash may or may not be in your personal program, but I would remind you that the higher-end Leica flashes do high-speed synch very well.
First, the real motive for this is to avoid finishing a piece on three or four Canon p/s cameras from the 1990s and 2000s that you must try.
Let me start by saying this is a fantastic movie. Definitely worth 3 hours. If you liked the original, this is a distant continuation that is within bounds for narrative. And if Roger Deakins does not get an Oscar for this, there is no God, and many of us therefore will be able simplify our planning for the future.
But… I can’t resist taking Villeneuve’s masterpiece to task for some of its strange inconsistencies, not the least of which have to do with photography and technology. I am going to avoid discussing things I have seen elsewhere. Don’t read this if you want to avoid spoilers. Or if you want to read something coherent and not written in a sinus medication fever dream (thanks, autumn weather…).
Where are our black-border Polaroids? A central reference point of the first Blade Runner was photographs: Leon’s pictures of his friends, Rachael’s snapshot with her mom, and Deckard’s oddly anachronistic picture with an (iced tea? beer can?) and his ex-wife (or maybe that was his dad and mom?). Of course, the hard copies were all Polaroids with black borders and really cool red imprinting. The Blade Runner Curse, of course, would drive Polaroid out of business some 26 years later. Ok, not.
Photographs played a central role in the original movie – so much so that characters like Leon would risk death to retrieve collections of them. They stood in as a proxy for history – and a past. Replicants used them like holy cards. These elements are completely missing in BR 2049; the past is prepackaged – so much so that its consumers like Officer K even know it is fake. That seems to defeat the purpose of fake memories, does it not?
One of the coolest pieces of “not-quite-yet” technology you see in BR 2049 – related to the Sapper Morton scene and visible just for an instant – is a printed still photo with motion. That comes up but once. This would require one of the thinnest and most elegant power sources ever invented. Despite this super-cool print technology, photo drones are somehow larger than they are in backward old 2017, except for Niander Wallace’s vision drones, which looks like a combination of massage stones and every cheap electronic device sold on Ebay in 2003. The one constant is the massive and invasive image advertising; in the original, it was made up of blimps and Jumbotrons; now it is enormous holograms that know you’re looking – and interact with you. They even managed to jam a Frank Sinatra hologram into a Sony bottle. But by far the most incredible use of images is in the flickering holographic slugfest that Officer K and Deckard have in Las Vegas. This a perfected version of the distraction technique used by Scaramanga in the Man with the Golden Gun. And by “perfected,” I mean that Hervé Villechaize is not providing color commentary over a loudspeaker.
Through an eyeball scanner darkly. This whole thing at the beginning is actually absurd. Officer KD6-3.7ABCDEFGHIJK (no wonder Joi wants to call him “Joe”) goes to a remote location, the last known location of Sapper Morton. He sees a photo of Morton’s face on his car computer. Police procedures then (weirdly) require him to get close enough to a heavily-built, military-model, killer clone to scan a serial number on his sclera with a UV light whose bulb has to pulse for some reason. The clone will display this number this voluntarily, of course. Right. Then K has to cut said eye out and put it on a little scanner. To get paid. After killing a guy three times his size, of course.
The problem is that none of this is actually necessary. Morton is a manufactured product, and if there is no other way to identify him, facial recognition computing should have identified him within a reasonable doubt. And K should have aired Morton out as soon as he saw him.
But why the eyeball cutting? LAPD is coming out to close out the crime scene anyway (remember how Officer K comes back to a sealed scene – which he then violates?) Presumably a digital photo of a dead Morton would suffice until backup arrives to provide reinforcement. Except that we need the visceral thrill/horror. Because Chew’s eye shop in the first movie.
Also, did you notice that police body cameras don’t exist in this universe? I would think that if you have humanoid slaves running around with guns, you’d want to make sure that Miranda rights are being read and that no one is getting killed for a broken taillight on a Spinner.
Wood. We learn late in the movie that wood is so valuable that you could trade a small amount of it for a “real” goat. Niander Wallace’s office is full of it. So why didn’t we see Officer K strap Sapper’s tree to the top of his Spinner and take it? Ok, maybe a stretch, but somebody would have taken it.
Slaves clones that have holographic AI girlfriends? Let’s get back to this “getting paid” thing. Officer K is a Replicant, and a Nexus-9 “obedience” model at that. The entire K story is weird because we are told right at the beginning that he is a Replicant. It is implied that Replicants are second-class citizens. And yet K:
- Gets paid above his living expenses, hence the emanator.
- Rents and inhabits human housing (and a fairly big place by Manhattan standards) with no supervision.
- Has a full suite of home automation.
- Gets to drink the same whisky his human boss does.
- Apparently has enough leisure time to read books.
- Gets to smoke.
- Gets his 2 seconds of pure water in the shower, which is probably as much as anyone gets.
In light of this, you can only wonder what the legal status of Replicants might be. It would actually have to be pretty good. I guess they have to do what their bosses tell them to (“join the club,” said every 20th century office worker ever) and can’t reproduce. Given where we saw Replicants in 2019 in the previous movie, you know, in offworld kick murder squads, mining colonies, garbage collection, you would think Officer K should be living in the basement of police HQ, eating gruel, living like a monk, reciting his Nabokov and liking it. Right?
So K is basically a human for all external intents and purposes. But then his department apparently tells his colleagues that he is a clone (so much for HIPAA… thanks, HR) and his memories are baloney. Coco the Mortician even uses the term “skin job” in front of him. That’s pretty gutsy considering that K could probably kill him with his little finger. But somehow it also becomes known to K’s neighbors that he is a “tin soldier” (ahem, who leaked this?). Wouldn’t you want your hunter-killers to stay on the down-low? When you’re going to out your employee/slave, why would you even bother making blade runners look like average people? Other Replicants seem capable of detecting their own kind, so it’s not even good cover.
Joi but no Luv. Ok. Back to the point. Part of K’s home automation is his AI girlfriend Joi. Understand that in this universe, there has been a history of violent mutinies by past models (due in part to their emotional explorations…). Clearly this is such an issue that you have to put the Baseline Test on even the new submissive models. And yet they allow K and his friends to have a technological toys for which they might develop affection? Granted, there are many who would become clone slaves if Ana de Armas was part of the deal. But still. And speaking of which, what the hell kind of holographic technology would allow Joi to appear outside a vehicle, through an opaque door? There is technology. And then there is physics. And then there is the need to write in a touching scene when Ryan Gosling is knocked out and in danger?
Replicant escorts but no pimps. Okay, so Mariette (Mackenzie Davis) looks really weird and crazy-eyed all the time. Because Mackenzie Davis. And the idea of a Replicant-Replicant-Hologram (RRH) ménage-à-trois is only slightly more weird – because it requires a variety of wraparound projection that does not exist in our universe. But who is Mariette’s pimp? Remember, in this universe, all Replicants are (expensive) capital goods owned by someone or some company. They don’t reproduce (I guess that saves money on birth control for the escorts?), and as far as anyone knows, they are never freed from their non-human legal status. If Mariette’s a Nexus-8, she should be on an, um, kill list. If she’s a Nexus-9, she should have never left her employer. And who is that? The government? LAPD?
Let’s back up a step. How does an AI hologram hire an escort for her owner (or licensee, I guess….)? The ability to enter commercial transactions, to live in your own house, and to associate with whomever you like are rights associated with humans. Or Replicants. But now computer programs?
And for all of her baseline testing, it doesn’t freak Chief Joshi out that her would-be sexbot is letting his virtual girlfriend spend all of his paychecks on cheap booze and hookers? Is she even detecting that? She’s pretty much the worst detective ever (where’s the eyeball of the child But her outfits are good. Not as good as Luv’s, but still respectable.
Bald man in the yellow box. This dude is not a Replicant? He claims to have remembered the blackout as a child. But this is the most android-looking guy ever to show up in this film series. Also, can “born humans” actually see in this color light?I guess if you’ve worked in a Philippe Starck hotel in the early 2000s.
Optical memory. Ok, so a background assumption is that there was some massive EMP event that eliminated all electronic records. Which is fine, except for the fact that Tyrell (and now Wallace) apparently stored everything in optical format immune from electromagnetic pulses: cats-eye marbles. Shooters, from the size. Why not just say that everything was stored on magnetic tape and that it got wiped by the pulse? If Pan-Am and Atari still exist in that universe, I’m sure that 4mm LTO does.
Wallace’s phantom security video. One of the more screwy things in the original BR is the lack of security cameras. I mean, Roy Batty manages to smoke Tyrell by getting in through an elevator with no camera – and without ever being seen by a security camera in the Grand Poobah’s bedroom? Same with Leon and Holden earlier in the movie (where are the metal detectors?). We see video of the VK test, but apparently no one is able to track Leon on the way out of the building. And yet, when it’s time to research Rachael when K comes to corporate HQ, here are a bunch of security videos that were taken in Tyrell’s office. And conveniently, they are shot from the POV of the original Rachael-Deckard introduction scene. Not from the Voigt-Kampff machine, which only scans eyes.
Gaff. I am so glad that they fixed the color balance on Gaff. I mean in the first movie, Edward James Olmos must have had jaundice — or someone had swung the Lightroom tint slider the wrong way to “acting in yellow-face.” Also, it’s apparent that in the 30 years between the movies, they taught Gaff how to speak in accent-free English and got him that surgery to fix those weird glowing yellow eyes. The LAPD must have great continuing education and awesome health insurance.
Props qua props. In Vegas, note that the readout on K’s scanner says that radiation is “nominal.” Which means normal. So the fact that Deckard is there does not bear on people’s weird need for him to be an android. And when Luv & her henchmen show up, the henchmen, inexplicably, are wearing gas masks. Why? If they are replicants, they would not be bothered by anything on site (because humans would not). There is no reason for them to be human, since Luv presumably would not be commanding human bodyguards. If they’re human, they also would not need the masks at all. So this is just for optics, so to speak? To make the guys faceless?
Stelline’s lab and that Zeiss thingie. So we get to Ana Stelline’s office. It’s like the holodeck from Star Trek: the New Generation. She’s got this thing with dials. Not sure I got a good look at it, but the number of settings and third-stop increments mean that it must have been made by Zeiss. When K comes in, she is generating a memory of a 20th-century birthday party. Which she could not have seen. It gets weirder when you realize that she programmed the wooden horse memory in the third person. You know, like in Rocky IV when Apollo Creed died and Rocky remembered running with him on the beach (in a completely heterosexual way). How did Stelline know what she herself looked like? I don’t think the San Diego orphanage/dystopian Foxconn plant had a lot of mirrors.
Syd Mead! Las Vegas is pretty clearly either a Mead design or Mead homage. The influential industrial designer (exported from Detroit, FYI) left his fingerprints all over this movie. But a really nice touch is that the K’s spinner looks like a DeLorean (n.b., it’s a Peugeot, which supplied DeLorean with engines), but the bad guys drive spinners that look like 1963 Lincolns that would have been in design when Mead was at Ford. That said, I don’t want to be the one to say it, but the production design of BR 2049 is not very consistent with the original. The Mead/Scott design for the original involved recycling and retrofitting old buildings. So unless the original was all shot in the Fourth Sector, there is a lot of explaining to be done about where all the pipes and ducts have gone – as well as what happened to all of the Asian people.
The law. Before the law sits a gatekeeper. To this gatekeeper comes a man from the country who asks to gain entry into the law. But the gatekeeper says that he cannot grant him entry at the moment. The man thinks about it and then asks if he will be allowed to come in later on. “It is possible,” says the gatekeeper, “but not now.”….The gatekeeper often interrogates him briefly, questioning him about his homeland and many other things, but they are indifferent questions, the kind great men put, and at the end he always tells him once more that he cannot let him inside yet. The man, who has equipped himself with many things for his journey, spends everything, no matter how valuable, to win over the gatekeeper. The latter takes it all but, as he does so, says, “I am taking this only so that you do not think you have failed to do anything.” (Tr. Ian Johnston).
It’s common knowledge (at least among people who pretend to have remembered college lit) that Joe K is like Josef K of Kafka’s Trial. What you may not have connected is that visually, K’s approach to Deckard’s casino is actually an homage to the cartoon short that opens Orson Welles’ adaptation of the Trial. Except that Welles is narrating from “Before the Law,” an unfinished short story. I don’t know who in the production is channeling Melville and Eco, but at some point you come to the realization that this story has cadged half of all religion and western culture (for starters, Moses; Jesus, Mary, and Joseph; Pinocchio; Dickens’ Tale of Two Cities and Oliver Twist; Graham Greene’s The Power and the Glory, World War II soldiers and aviators (“[GI] Joe”), tech moguls…)
The stars. So an image that appears early on is where Niander Wallace makes a statement that “we should own the stars.” Stars only appear once visually, in the peyote-and-are-they-eating-Deckard’s-dog? scene. But Ana Stelline is a reference to “little stars,” meaning that the key to this mystery is on earth.
Elvis! No comment on what went on in the casino, and it’s an awesome sequence, but are the holographic projectors of the future really a bunch of projection TVs from the 1970s with R, G and B lenses? Or are these DLP projectors gone really, really wrong?
Joi (the reprise). This is just a nerdy technical point – when Joi appears naked in the huge billboard near the end, did you notice that her color scheme is that of a person shot in 720nm infrared? Including the black eyes? It’s actually pretty impressive, when you consider that the scene was shot live and optically, not composited in with a computer.
Ok. Back to writing up some Sure Shots. If you want to see a fantastic deconstruction of the original Blade Runner, check out Typeset in the Future. That article even shows you what is in the dummy text used in props.
It’s been a mere couple of days, and there has been a lot of Internet Indignation over the idea that PLR IP (the successor to Polaroid’s intellectual property) would demand that Fujifilm pay to license the square format for Instax Square. Most of what I have seen is based on incomplete suppositions about the law — and the history of instant film in the 21st century. A lot of comments say – in so many words – that PLR is just a bunch of greedy [——s] trying to cash in. You’re entitled to your opinion, but this is far more nuanced a situation than most reflexive internet commenters realize.
Why is PLR demanding royalties?
Three points here. First, the law of intellectual property (patents, trademarks, copyrights) is designed to confer legalized monopolies, not to promote competition or assure that consumers have the best selection or best price. It is designed to compensate creativity, innovation, and brand-building/maintenance by giving the creator or its successor exclusivity for some period – or in the case of trademarks, indefinitely. Don’t confuse IP law with antitrust law, which does things like preserving competition in price and preventing agreements, business combinations, or sales practices that improperly leverage market power to make consumers pay more.
Second, intellectual property is transferrable. You can deride the idea of “cashing in on an IP portfolio,” but however distasteful you think it is, it’s perfectly permissible under the law. In fact, you’ll see on pretty much every patent application ever filed that patents are assigned to workers, who then have to fork the rights over to their employers. Patents are licensed all the time, and there are thousands of instances where an inventor does not see any part of the profits because he or she cashes out. Some companies make it their business to own and license patents for money. Those same companies sometimes fund (or pay off) the work that led to the patent in the first place. The average inventor lacks the capital to realize ideas; if it weren’t for investors, most consumer products you use on a daily basis simply would not exist.
Finally, PLR absolutely has the right to “cash in” on any valid IP it obtained in the wake of the Polaroid bankruptcy. Bankruptcy does not automatically cancel a company’s IP; in most bankruptcies, that is liquidated to pay the creditors. Think of it this way – General Motors Corporation went out of business about ten years ago. All of its rights in the various products it sold went to General Motors LLC – which like PLR IP was a new company with none of the same owners. The current GM has the ability (from an ownership standpoint) to sue anyone for infringing any trademark that was ever used by any prior version of GM. So PLR IP stands in the shoes of old Polaroid for ownership. That doesn’t mean that the intellectual property is valid; it just means that PLR can sue.
How did this lawsuit start?
Next, let’s talk about how this lawsuit started: Fujifilm filed a declaratory action to establish whether or not it can sell Instax Square without paying a royalty. That is a proactive step to take. Fujifilm got a nasty-gram from Polaroid, Polaroid did not file suit, and Fuji wanted to bring the issue to a head before it distributed too much Instax Square and ran up too much in potential liability. So it was Fuji that decided to spend a few million on the exercise.
What is Fujifilm’s rationale?
I would posit that if this suit is not just being used by Fujifilm as negotiating leverage, this will be a long, expensive, dragged out piece of litigation and not necessarily because of anything PLR will do. It may well make this a mega-case. But Fujifilm’s own arguments are all based on concepts that are neither slam-dunks, nor ones that will be decided short of expensive expert work or a trial. Fujifilm has three principal arguments in its complaint (reproduced here but condensed and consolidated):
FUJIFILM does not use the “square within a square” form factor of its INSTAX instant film as a trademark, nor as any other indicia of the source of its products… FUJIFILM’s use of the “square within a square” form factor for its INSTAX instant film has not caused, nor is it likely to cause, confusion as to the source, affiliation, or sponsorship of FUJIFILM’s products and services or Defendants’ products or services.
Likelihood of confusion could be a challenging issue for Fujifilm. The issue is likely going to be addressed in a confusion survey in which a couple thousand people are going to be shown an Instax Square print. For those in the survey group who aren’t familiar with Instax, what will they call the prints?
Defendants do not currently use and have not used in commerce the marks that are the subject of the PLR Trademark Registrations for any of the subject goods set forth in the PLR Trademark Registrations.
This is an abandonment argument. In general, there is a rebuttable presumption that when a party does not exercise a trademark for three years, that it is abandoned. That is not an ironclad rule because “intent to resume” is a way around that. Moreover, bankruptcy standing alone is not generally recognized to cause abandonment.
Abandonment requires clear and convincing evidence to prove – meaning that you don’t get a verdict or a judgment based on the 50.0000001% certainty standard in your garden variety civil case. In fact, “clear and convincing evidence” is the same heightened standard used to prove fraud. It is also more akin to “beyond a reasonable doubt.”
Now take a look at what is going to get presented to a judge (or a jury if PLR demands one):
- Polaroid Corporation made SX-70 film (the subject of the trademark/trade dress dispute here) starting in the early 1970s.
- Polaroid sued Kodak in 1976 when Kodak introduces line of integral film cameras that competed with the SX-70.
- At about the same time Kodak instant went off the market, but before the Kodak case was resolved, Polaroid and Fujifilm settled their own patent dispute, resulting in (among other things) a territorial distribution agreement keeping Fujifilm integral out of the United States, licensing the patented integral technology to Fuji, and giving Polaroid access to Fujifilm’s video technology.
- In 1991, Kodak and Fuji settled for $925 million, making instant film the biggest patent case in U.S. history.
- In 1998, Fujifilm started making some sizes of Instax (its name for all instant films).
- In 2001, Polaroid imported Instax Mini 10/20 film (which it sold as “300” film) and sold the camera as the Mio. In the same year, it filed for reorganization and its assets were sold to an affiliate of Bank One. The company that bought the assets was named Polaroid Holding Company, the old Polaroid Corporation became Primary PDC, Inc., and PHC began doing business under Polaroid Corporation.
- In 2004, Polaroid stopped making the negatives necessary for integral film. This, it thought, would be a decade’s worth of stock. Wrong!
- In 2005, Instax/Mio folded, as did Instax Wide, in the U.S.
- In 2005, Polaroid Corporation (PHC) was sold to Tom Petters.
- In 2008, Polaroid went out of business (when Petters was prosecuted for investment fraud) and stopped making chemical SX-70/600 style film (and in Europe, the raw materials stockpiled in 2004 had now been exhausted – 6 years ahead of predictions).
- During the 2008 liquidation, Florian Kaps – the largest online distributor for Polaroid – bought the 50,000 remaining packages of SX-70 film. He got Ilford onboard and spent $3.1 million buying the production equipment at Enschede (NL). With the help of good old PR extortion, he got Polaroid Europe to cooperate in allowing the workers to keep the plant running (albeit with re-engineered products).
- In the same year, Instax Wide and Mini came back under Fujifilm branding.
- In 2009, Polaroid’s IP was transferred to a new entity owned by an investor group. Notably, “Polaroid” was still being used to sell books and other things recalling the SX-70/600 instant print.
- In 2010, the Impossible Project released its first film based on Polaroid SX-70/600 format and concept.
- In 2012, Wiacezlaw “Slava” Smolokowski bought 20% of the Impossible Project at the behest of his son, Oskar.
- In 2014 (December) the Pohlad family bought the majority interest in new Polaroid for $70 million. Oskar Smolokowski becomes the CEO.
- In 2014, Slava Smolokowski (his father) became the biggest shareholder in the Impossible Project.
- In 2017 (January), Polaroid released the Pop 3×4 Zink (Zero Ink digital) amera that used the classic SX-70/600 borders.
- In 2017 (April), Fujifilm introduced Instax Square. The SQ10 camera renders digitally taken images on (arguably) SX-70-proportioned prints, just like the Pop. The difference is that it uses chemical film/paper rather than sublimation printing.
- In 2017 (May), Smolokowski (senior?) bought the Polaroid brand and IP, bringing both it and the Impossible Project under the same ownership. Presumably, Polaroid licensed its IP to Impossible. Certainly it licensed the name, and Impossible is now “Polaroid Originals.”
- At around the same time, PLR made demands on Fujifilm.
- In 2017 (November), Polaroid brought its trademark cancellation action in the Southern District of New York.
(and this is just the story of integral film – Polaroid and Fuji had other collaborations in pack film, for example, like Type 689, which reportedly was made by Fuji).
Ok. This is still not everything that has happened in the integral film world – but you get the point. A part of this suit, I’m sure, is going to be untangling exactly who owns what and what continuities exist. I’m also sure that both Fujifilm and PLR and Impossible Project spent a lot of money figuring this out in the few first months of the year. It’s actually interesting also that this suit does not name Polaroid Originals (née Impossible Project) or Smolokowski, since I think you’d want to resolve everything at once.
The alleged “design” of an instant film border frame with a thickened portion that is the subject of the PLR Trademark Registrations is purely functional…
This is probably going to be a lot of engineers doing exposition on ways to spread chemicals. Fujifilm will argue that a thickened border is necessary for the chemical pod. Too bad for curiosity’s sake that the papers that lay this all out will probably never see the light of day in terms of accessible court records. But query whether that will let them argue that the specific proportions of the print are functional. Dr. Land was a very detailed person when it came to designing things, so don’t be surprised if his notes reflect some intentional aesthetic choices.
The immorality of PLR’s demands?
PLR’s assertion of its rights is not unforeseeable, nor is there any indication that it is based on unethical thinking or behavior. First, the Smolokowski family has sunk probably tens of millions in Polaroid, a large sum in making the Impossible Project work, and getting the rights to resurrect SX-70 film – even in name. It has every incentive in the world to prevent what might be an assault on Polaroid’s historic core (and most recognizable) photographic product. If Fujifilm undercuts Impossible on price (which is almost a certainty), the only people who will buy Impossible film will be the ones who want both the SX-70 format and the particular camera that use the original style film.
Second, you might or might not wonder about why Fujifilm “just happened” to come out with a format clone of SX-70 if it isn’t to cash in on the hipster aesthetic. Is it a situation like in 2010: the Year we Make Contact (“All of these worlds are yours except Europa. Attempt no landings there”)? Or does every square format requires similar proportions? Is homage the most sincere form of flattery? Or is this a play on the back of a product that people remember even with a 10-year time-out under the Polaroid name? It could be all of these things – or none of them. That is what a court is going to decide in the Fujifilm case.
Finally, people should not harbor the illusion that Fujifilm is “committed” to film, operating a charity, or otherwise being some kind of noble stag attacked by the commoners. Like industry punching-bag Kodak, Fujifilm does things because they make money, and it has a pretty clear track record of stopping when those things does not. Because shareholders. Instax is supported because it makes money. Even according to Fuji’s own official histories, it was on its way out when a youth-oriented fad jumpstarted its failing heart. Other things (like pack film and many 35mm and 120 emulsions) were discontinued because they did not make money. If “SX-70” becomes another size in a portfolio of Instax formats that are in the meta sense disposable, it would be easy for Fujifilm to put Impossible out of business in year 1 (bricking every SX-70 and 600-series camera in existence) and blow away the format in year 3 because Wide (or whatever) sells better and the investment in camera and film cutting tooling is amortized. You may or not may feel comfortable putting all eggs in that green basket. Maybe you do if short-term price is your main concern.
My prediction is that this will end in a settlement with a small royalty or cross-licensing of Fujifilm technology to Polaroid Originals. Fujifilm will get to sell square Instax, and Polaroid Originals will sell a slightly better version of its product. It’s an easy prediction. Both parties have a lot to lose here, and it’s how many IP fights are resolved.
I’ve got so many names! But why don’t you call me Mr. Strange?
The penalties for doing drugs in Japan are quite severe; nevertheless, the use of recreational marijuana seems to have worked well in Canon’s 1980s design room. Imagine and point-and-shoot camera that could be switched from half to full frame (with viewfinder masking) for two different focal lengths – and a third with a dedicated teleconverter that does not throw off autofocus. Oh wait, throw in an optional intervallometer, time-computer, frame number imprinter back. With Nikon pro-style spatter paint. But while you are doing all of this, build a metering system that only goes down to EV9 and heavily uses flash. There is a business case here, I swear to God!
Half frame! When this camera is in half frame mode, you get a 50mm f3.5 equivalent and a 90mm f/5.6 equivalent. That is very unusual in a space dominated by fast-aperture focus-by-guess cameras (like the Canon Demi), small and unreliable designs like the Konica AA35/Recorder, and bulky “subminiature” systems like the Pen. To say nothing of full-sized cameras that are masked down to shoot 18×24 (Hexar 72, Konica FT-1 Pro Half, Konica Autorex).
By the specs
(from the Canon Camera Museum, whose summary/overview page actually contains some inaccurate information):
|Type||Fully automatic 35mm Lens-Shutter autofocus camera with two focal lengths|
|Picture Size||24×36 mm, 17x24mm (not switchable in midroll)|
|AF System||Triangulation system with near-infrared beam. Prefocus enabled.|
|Lens||35mm f/3.5 (3 elements in 3 groups) and 60mm f/5.6 (6 elements in 6 groups).
* With the optional Teleconverter, a maximum 75mm focal length (110mm for half frame) can be set.
|Shutter||Electromagnetic programmed shutter and aperture. For 35mm: EV 9.5 (f/3.5 at 1/60 sec.) – EV 15.5 (f/11 at 1/350 sec.) For 60mm: EV 11 (f/5.6 at 1/60 sec.) – EV 17 (f/19 at 1/350 sec.) Built-in electronic self-timer. Bulb provided (max. 4 sec.).|
|Viewfinder||Variable-magnification, direct viewfinder with automatic switch of picture size. 0.42x – 0.63x magnification and 85% coverage. Within the image area are the AF frame, parallax correction marks, and OK-to-Shoot lamp.|
|EE||CdS cell for full-auto program EE. Metering range of EV 9.5 – 17 (at ISO 100). Film speed range: ISO 25 – 3200 (with DX code).|
|Built-in Flash||Guide No. 10.5 (at ISO 100 in meters). Fires automatically in low-light conditions.|
|Power Source||One 6 V 2CR5 lithium battery|
|Film Loading &
|After opening camera back, align film leader at mark, then close the camera back for auto loading. Automatic film advance with built-in motor. Film advance speed of 0.6 sec. per frame.|
|Frame Counter||Seven-segment LCD on camera back. Counts up. Resets automatically when camera back is opened. Counts down during rewind.|
|Film Rewind||Automatic rewind with built-in motor. Midroll rewind enabled.|
|133 x 72 x 50 mm, 330 g (with battery)|
Startup. Startup is instant, in part because nothing really happens until you take the picture. The flash powers up (somehow) almost instantly, and you are ready to go.
Grip. This is a fairly substantial point and shoot, so you will have no problem getting or keeping your grip.
Viewfinder. The viewfinder is reasonable for a camera of this type, and it has a single parallax line and square bracket reticles. It masks down automatically in 72-frame (X2) mode. The finder snaps from one focal length to the other. Little or no distortion is visible, which is nice. There is just a green light that comes on when focus is locked. It also comes on when the focus is not locked. Or when there is imminent underexposure. There is no orange or red light for failure modes, which puts the internal computer at a notch below the usual 4-bit processor in the Stylus Epic/mju-ii, Yashica T4, etc.
Half-press. Pressing the shutter lightly, you get a loud click. Not sure how that classifies as “prefocus,” since the lens is still firmly inside its hidey-hole when you press down. May just be that the AF measures the distance.
Shutter impulse. This camera has something of a lag because the act of shooting it retracts the lens cover, extends the lens, shoots, retracts the lens, and closes the door. This makes it almost impossible to throw a camera with an un-capped lens into your bag. All of this happens inside the teleconverter tube when the teleconverter is on.
Flash. Get used to it. It is almost always on.
Bulb mode. This is for fireworks. That’s it.
Macro mode. If you get too close, the camera goes to 30mm, stops down, and fires the flash. It makes out-of-focus pictures fairly difficult to achieve. You can still do it. Maybe you’ve met my children.
The date back. The unicorn-like Multi Tele Date, instead of just having a frame counter on the back, has a multifunction back that is not unlike what you would have gotten on a pro SLR (not DSLR) back in the day.
- Date/time/etc. imprint (good to 2027, which is way longer than any of these cameras are going to last).
- Frame number imprint.
- Calculation of time from a fixed point. This will compute the difference between today’s date and a date you input. As such, if your child is 4 years and 6 months old, it can print that in the frame.
- Intervallometer. When you want to shoot that flower opening, the Canon has your back.
Canon AF Teleconverter. The AF Teleconverter automatically turns this into a(n even more) weird and wonderful camera. It screws into the tripod socket, flaps over the front, and snaps over the back. It activates a small rubberized switch that tells the camera to adjust focus. It can flip off almost immediately like an everready case. The 40.5mm filter thread opens things up to a lot of mischief, including special effects and contrast filters.
Having a 110mm-equivalent lens for half frame that actually focuses quickly and accurately makes this a pretty compelling portrait machine. It shoots at f/7, but that’s within easy flash range. Take that, Konica AA35/Recorder!
The teleconverter also has a quite undistorted view (see the architectural pictures below). It is very well engineered.
Quite good. Here is a sampling taken with the teleconverter (which makes this a fantastic portrait machine), shot on TMY with an orange filter (hint: tape over the DX code on the film cartridge), and scanned on a Pakon F135 plus:
This is an oft-overlooked gem in the half-frame world. It is low-maintenance, easy to use, and has a very broad ASA range to work with. It also has unique portrait capabilities in the half-frame space. But wow, 72 frames take a long, long time to shoot.
‘It’s just as well,’ said the other, ‘because I don’t suppose I could have satisfied you.’ He made an apologetic gesture with his softpalmed hand. ‘You see how it is; an empty shop, you might say. Between you and me, the antique trade’s just about finished. No demand any longer, and no stock either.
— George Orwell, Nineteen Eighty-Four
As Charrington might have said to Smith, it is kind of late in the game for film Leicas. It’s 2017; Kodak makes three varieties of black and white film; and frankly, every other manufacturer has narrowed down to that number or fewer emulsions. Is it fun to shoot a film rangefinder these days? Yes and no. The beauty is that you can afford cameras you would have never dreamed of buying when you were 12 and reading old issues of Popular Photography. The bad news is that 30 years later, the cameras all seem so mortal.
The short take
Let’s forget about doing a full-on description of the camera; you have Google for that. Perhaps it is better to start with how this camera works for people who normally use Leicas.
The CLE, like a lot of small cameras (and M cameras) is straightforward. It is small, light, and easy to handle, if a bit blocky. The rangefinder seems more capable of focusing longer lenses than people seem to think. And it is extremely quiet. But there is more.
- Size. The CLE is the size of a Canonet. A small one. It is about 80% of the size of a Leica M-series camera. Not vanishingly small, but quite a bit smaller and lighter. In fact, it might be uncomfortably small for the large-handed.
- Rangefinder construction. The rangefinder mechanism is very similar to the Hexar RF in its design, right down to the annoying gear wheel for vertical adjustment. It also has the same general affect as in the Fuji GSW690III, Mamiya 6/7, and Bessa M cameras. You will love it or hate it.
- Common parts. The CLE is built on the Minolta XG-7 platform. So it is cheap as an SLR and very expensive as a Leica-style rangefinder. A repair person has confirmed for me that many of the parts are the same but that some key ones (like the viewfinder/rangefinder) definitely are not.
- Capacitive (or not). Your finger closes the circuit that makes a half-press of the shutter. This will be fun with gloves, I suspect. That said, it may make the camera more resistant to the breakdown of a two-stage shutter switch (ahem, cough, Hexar AF…).
- OTF/WTF metering. The camera meters off the film (hence, there is no exposure lock). The metering is far more sophisticated than any Leica film M (and indeed the digital ones if they are not in the multipattern mode).
- Wide lenses. The CLE is a great platform for compact wide M lenses. Your 21, 15, or 12mm lens does not need massive rangefinder accuracy – and when it comes to getting images on film, the CLE still gives you a 24x36mm frame.
- Cheap TTL flash. A TTL flash costs $10 (Vivitar Auto Thyristor 550D for Minolta). Take that, Leica Camera AG.
- Rangefinder. The rangefinder masks are on glass plates, not metal pieces. Don’t be surprised to see some degradation.
Quirks and Annoyances
If you are used to traditional Leicas, you may be tripped up by a few things:
- Swing-open back. The Minolta dispenses with the irritating bottom-plate loading of a Leica M. And yes, it is annoying and pointless on a film Leica, and even more so on digital Leicas. The idea originally was to allow a bigger pressure plate and flatter film. While there may be a use case for this with some lenses, there is no real-world consequence to using a normal-sized plate except that your chances of successfully loading film go way up with a swing back.
- “Easy” loading takeup spool. This is one place where Leica is easier to live with – on a Leica, you just jam the film leader into a multipronged spool. The CLE has a fairly terrible spool with a white collar. It’s tough to get the film tip in there. Konica wins in the easy-loading spool race; Minolta should have sucked it up and licensed that feature.
- Rewind knob on the bottom. This is mostly harmless except that you need to lift and rotate the knob to open the back. This is definitely a “read the manual” moment.
- No manual metering. A carry-over from the XG-7 series, the meter shuts down when you switch the shutter speed dial off A. This is not the worst thing that could happen; before you switch to M you will see the recommended shutter speed – you can dial it up or down from there.
- Viewfinder blockage. The viewfinder/rangefinder window placement is terrible for big-diameter lenses. Most of these lenses are fast 50s, but even where they are not (such as the 21-35mm Dual Hexanon or the 18mm ZM Distagon), a lens with a 55-62mm front end will block the viewfinder and rangefinder.
Do we like it?
The CLE is a very solid camera; it is small, quiet, and does not get in the way. It seems to distill the things that are fun about shooting rangefinders while minimizing the things that seem to be baggage. Maybe the sunset of film photography is here, maybe it is not, but this is a good companion with which to watch the sun go down. Or come up.
First entry in the Year of the Point and Shoot.
I have been shooting cheap autofocus cameras all year. It started with a broken M240 (thanks, mini-me, for knocking the RF out) and has been going on in a hail of Kodak Gold 400, ProImage 100, and TMY. For some reason, this also became an excuse to buy a Minolta CLE and a Konica FT-1 half frame(!), neither of which are p/s cameras (but are small in some way, even if just the negative size). As to the choice of film, if you are going to relive the 1990s in camera technology, why not shoot like it? There are lots of things to talk about with compacts, so stay tuned over the next few weeks.
Design and construction. The Yashica T4 Super D (called the T5 in some markets) is the end of an evolutionary line of cameras built around Carl Zeiss T* lenses. Kyocera, of course, was making Contax SLRs, G series, lenses, and compact cameras. It is interesting that the company made some products with these lenses under the Yashica house brand.
The T-series is all-plastic. The T4 Super comes in black and titanium color. Mine is black. Like my heart. The only rubberized surface is a small 1 x 3cm rubber front grip pad. The Yashica T product line evolved from boxy and angular T to a rounded brick shape in the T4 Super D. The T4 Super D is weatherproof. Water can get inside the lens cover, but per the instructions, water cannot get into the inner parts. I am not going to test this.
The camera is not small. If you think this is the size of a Stylus Epic (mju-ii), you are sadly mistaken. The size can work for you if you have long fingers.
Loading up. The back unlatches with a very tight little latch, and it shuts by pressing the back firmly closed (trying to operate the latch does not make this easier).
You will need one CR123 battery to make it work. It is not clear if it will work well with rechargables, though a camera like this is not designed to shoot the thousands of rolls of film that would make lithium-ion batteries worthwhile.
Film loading is that weird right-to-left thing that was popular with point-and-shoot cameras. There is no clear reason why manufacturers did this; the practice is absent on high-end Japanese compact cameras. The only ill effect is that your pictures appear “upside down” compared to the edge printing.
The brain. The camera has the typical 4-bit brain of a Japanese point-and-shoot of the 1990s. You can select auto flash, redeye flash, no flash, and infinity focus. And that is it. Oh yes, you can also pick self-timer. Bring your selfie stick!
No exposure compensation, no manual ISO setting (though you could use DX stickers to fool the camera or simply tape over the DX codes on the film canister to fool the camera into thinking any film was 100 ASA. DX range is 50-3200, so you can shoot pretty much any modern film. Program mode is the only exposure option. Note that the mode selected does not persist through power-downs, so every time you switch the camera on, there is a possibility of shooting a flash off in someone’s face.
Allegedly, the camera is able to automatically compensate or fire the flash in backlit conditions (per the manual), but it is unclear how the camera would be able to detect this. The camera has a dual-element SPD cell, which suggests that the camera compares an inner zone and an outer zone to figure out what the scene looks like.
Lens and focus system. The Yashica T series (not to be confused with the Contax T series) is all built around a 35mm f/3.5 Tessar T* multicoated lens (and it is a Tessar in construction with 4 elements in 3 groups). The use of 35-38mm lenses with moderate maximum apertures (3.5-3.8) was a widespread phenomenon in Japan; it seems possible that this combination allowed the use of simpler lenses with high performance. Every manufacturer seemed to make a compact camera with a similar lens.
Is the lens sharp? Yes, and that is why people put up with the other quirks. This is a mid-aperture shot on 400-speed film, and if you can blow this up, you can see that it is crisp right into the corners. Now this time with more light:
And now for the obligatory out-of-focus analysis. Not bad. But then again, it’s a Tessar.
Early examples of the T series had passive AF based on Honeywell patents; later versions sported active infrared windows and measurement, meaning that the camera range-finds by bouncing a beam off the subject and measuring the return time. This kind of system stops working at about 20-30 feet (that is why the camera has an ∞ setting. Shutter is behind the lens and runs up to respectable 1/700 sec.
It is important to focus with the center of the brackets (the circle) on the subject. When the shutter button is half-depressed, the exposure and focus lock.
Viewfinder. The viewfinder is a small but clear Galilean unit with with an oval RF reticle, parallax correction marks, and two lights: solid green for focus lock (blinking when AF fails or is inside the 25cm close-focus distance) and red for flash status (solid when it will fire; blinking when charging, solid in no-flash mode where there will be a slow shutter speed).
The viewfinder is small and is more resistant to blackout than most. But it is no Canon Sure Shot Owl, Canon P, Nikon F3HP, or Fuji X-T1.
The camera also has a secondary viewfinder, the “Superscope,” which allows waist-level shooting. The window for the Superscope is larger than that of the main viewfinder. This probably accounts for the tiny size of the main viewfinder window.
On/off sequence. The T4 Super opens with a sliding switch on the front near the top. A mechanical linkage retracts a circular plastic lens cover, and the camera comes on. Flipping the switch back causes the lens to retract and the camera to switch off. The lens barrel is the thing that keeps the lens cover open.
Autofocus/shutter release. The “half press” setting on the camera requires a very light touch; it does not have a tactile click. As a result, if you miss the status lights coming on, you might shoot the picture without intending to.
Shot sequence. The camera reads distance with a half press, extends the lens to achieve focus, and then retracts slightly after the shot. There is a moderate shutter lag. If you are fixated on shutter lag, consider a Canon Sure Shot 120 Classic, which has a Leica-rivaling 0.06 firing time. I will get to a writeup on that shortly.
Flash. Get used to it. Unlike its polite, more expensive Contax cousins, the Yashica does not have a way to change the default from “auto flash” on power-up. You will forget to turn the flash off. You will be surprised when it fires. You will ruin some pictures.
Noise level. Terry Richardson is not sneaking up on naked people with this camera. Sounds like a point and shoot and makes a bright flash.
Conclusion. They say love the sinner hate the sin; here it is hating the camera but loving the pictures. Well, maybe not exactly, but this is a now-very-expensive camera with quirks, and if you can learn to live with them, you will gain a lot.