GOMZ / LOMO Sputnik

GOMZ(1), based in Leningrad / St. Petersburg, established in the 1930s, was one of the earliest optical equipment and camera factories in the USSR. In 1966, the company name had changed to LOMO(2).  In both incarnations, the company produced photographic and optical equipment for civilian and military use. The cameras made were basic, with one exception: the Leningrad and its derivatives, which were among the few pure Soviet-developed models. It had a local following but little in the West. The very early GOMZ cameras were the Fotokor and the FKD models, with a Leica-inspired camera, the VOOMP / Pioneer, and an odd early SLR, the Sport. These are about the only GOMZ models that command high value at the collectors’ market.

Under LOMO, the company offered the modern-styled Almaz SLR models, and an extensive line of LOMO back-to-basics cameras that came to fame among hipsters, mainly the highly popular LOMO LC-A, a knock-off of the Cosina CX-2 (AKA Praktica CX 2, Perti PX 1, Porst CM-135), all of which seem to be an answer to the groundbreaking Olympus XA dynasty. The LC-A enjoyed a large following, which took over production once the original line had ceased.

The main lines of the factory, under both names, were the Lubitel TLR, a Voigtlander Brillant-inspired camera that branched into several sub-models,  and the Smena line of simple, unpretentious cameras. Smena had several stereo models, all of which came after the stereo craze had waned in the West. Several prototypes are known, presumably from different custom shops.

Note that although GOMZ and LOMO carried the same camera line, in camdex.ca, the models commonly appear under one of the two.

I have a well-established negative view of postwar Soviet cameras. Most are crude, unabashed copies of Western models, lacking style and of inferior quality. Here, I take a step back. I wrote over 300 reviews, nine of which were about Soviet models, and the Sputnik is one of the few cameras that I do like. Considering that it is Soviet homebrewed, it stands out. There is little technology in it, no outstanding style or finesse, but it has neat lines, a simple mechanism, straightforward settings, and,  unlike other cameras of that crop, my unit is well preserved and fully operational.  It could be the original owner, but it is easier to maintain a well-made product rather than a sorry one.  Perhaps I like it as the previous stereo camera I looked at was the Linex, which was a sterling example of what a camera should not be.

The camera heritage is visible at first glance, looking like two Lubitels phased together side by side, with a shared viewer. Using a #120 format, it has an inherited flaw, a short roll. On the other hand, it translates into a practical image size, producing six twin images, 55x55mm each, totalling 13x6cm per pair. Considering the emulsion quality of the time, this size would yield better results than, say, the Realist 12x13mm.  Further, contact prints were easy to make, an advantage in a society where any consumer goods were considered bourgeois luxuries.

A word about the Sputnik name. I always thought the camera was named after the Sputnik satellite, but I see that the camera was launched three years earlier, in 1954, while the satellite was launched in 1957. Go figure. According to Wikipedia, Sputnik means “fellow traveller”. I would suggest a “tag-along” as a literal translation. It had become the term for satellite, a term also used for the countries under the Soviet sphere of influence, the satellite states. The first Spunik satellite was launched in 1957, as a finger in the eye of the US, which had announced its space programme. I say ‘first’ with limited liability, as the Soviets had a tendency to keep unsuccessful missions under a veil of secrecy; hence, ‘first’ could mean the first successful launch. The Soviets were also the first to have a person in orbit, with Yuri Gagarin in 1961. In the camera universe, a Zorki 2 edition, Zorki Yura, was issued in his honour. The Soviets followed with the first animal in space, Sputnik 2, carrying Laika, a dog that did not return to Earth. Fast forward to Spunik 5 of 1960, which took two dogs, a community of rats, mice, flies, and plants, all of which had safely landed on Earth. Pushinka, a puppy born to the pair of dogs, was given to Jacqueline Kennedy as a token of friendship or as a snub to the American. The poor dog was taken to the Secret Service to check if it contained any spying devices or was trained in any anti-American practices. I am not making it up. The same had just happened with Huawei. FED produced a Zarya version under Zarya Sputnik, and a Hit-type camera under the Sputnik name came in the 1950s; both had nothing to do with GOMZ/LOMO Sputnik.

The Sputnik had several minor cosmetic changes during its lifetime, some with Latin lettering and most with Cyrillic. An elusive export version under Dural is said to be offered. A second version, Sputnik 2 with a slightly different front design and speed settings, was announced, but it has not shown up in recent years. It was sold in a kit with mounting paraphernalia and a specialized handheld viewer. An underwater casing was available as well, not sure for what purpose.

It was made under both company names, GOMZ and LOMO. The unit on my desk is marked LOMO.

The camera is indeed bulky, but it is lighter than you might expect. At 800 gr, it is the same weight as the Revere Stereo 33 and the David White Realist, but its heft makes it feel lighter. The reason is that this camera is made of bakelite, while the others are made of steel. Comparing it to the Rokuwa Stereo Rocca, which uses the same format, it is much heavier and larger, as the Rokuwa moves the film vertically and shoots two images across the width of the film, 24x24mm each, whereas here it shoots two full-size images, 55x55mm each.

• The body is all black, with chromed metal elements, where visible.
• The top has two knobs, the turning one on the right is a winder, and the second is a spring-loaded pull-out to hold the feed roll in place. In the middle is a fold-in, large viewer, taken straight from the Lubitel. The wings are punched steel, well-made and finished, operating smoothly. The view is large and clear.
• The back splits into two hinged, angled wings. To open the back, slide the middle slider down. To lock, slide it up, but ensure both wings are in place and the slider picks the little tab in on the left wing, as the slider may close without overlapping the tab. On the left wing is the red frame number lens, which can be blocked by a thumb knob next to it. Note that, since the camera captures two images at once, load the first frame accordingly and skip the following frame numbers in the same sequence.
• Bottom and sides are boring.
• The front section is nicely done.
  • The two taking lenses are set at 64mm centers, about the standard for stereo cameras. There is no thread for a filter, but you can use a slide-on 26mm, if available.
  • In the middle, above the taking lenses level, is the viewing lens.
  • The three lenses are skirted by a toothed gear, beautifully made and finished, not your typical Soviet job. All three lenses turn in unison and move in/out on a matching helix.
  • The left lens carries the settings. Closest to the body is the aperture dial, which is controlled by a bar that connects the two lenses under the housing. In front of it is the shutter speed dial, controlled by a tab under the left lens. The left shutter commands the right one, where a second bar in between the lenses flicks the right shutter to sync it with the left.
  • There were two shutter versions, the earlier had B, 15-125, and the latter had B, 10-100.
  • On the left lens housing. A tab at 10 o’clock cocks both shutters. A lever at 8 o’clock triggers both. A tab at 4 o’clock, kind of hard to reach, is the self-timer. I avoid testing self-timers, as they often fail first in vintage cameras. A remote trigger thread is on the left. The PC sync port is on the right lens.
  • The middle lens, 10/100, has the distance focusing markings marked in meters. You may turn any of the sprockets; the other two will gladly oblige.
  • A nice touch is the three lens covers, all of which are the same size.

For the collector, it is a plain stereo camera, one of the few made with #120 format film. The stereo format was short-lived, so not many cameras were made to suit. It is an unimportant model, but I like it. I would recommend having one. It has an imposing look, prominent, and little can go wrong with it.

(1) GOMZ: Gosudarstvennyi Optiko-Mekhanicheskii, literally State Optical-Mechanical Factory.
(2) LOMO: Leningradskoe Optiko-Mechanichesko Objedinenie, literally Leningrad Optical-Mechanical Union.