GOMZ / LOMO Sokol

I pull out cameras for review shelf by shelf, so I now clear the compact viewfinders and rangefinders. All that, when I avoid the big boys’ cameras, say the Canon Canonet, Minolta Hi-Matic, Olympus 35 or Yashica Electro series; common to them is that each of the lines consists of a header name followed by an alphabet soup of models; going through all would require long dwelling and research.

So today’s camera is similar to these models from the same era, with matching features, but born in the workers’ paradise under the leadership of comrade Leonid Brezhnev; years of his rule coincide with this camera’s lifetime.

Past visitors of this site may note that I hold an enduring opinion about the Soviet camera industry, which is far from positive. The Soviets did make some cameras before the war, but the industry bloated post-war once they relocated complete German plants to the USSR: machinery, working hands, and brains, still under Soviet watch. A similar process, to a lesser magnitude, occurred in Eastern Germany.  The Soviet-made cameras were used as foreign-exchange generators, as the Ruble had no value. Sadly, after the first and second generations, which were exact copies of the German models, later models lacked ingenuity and advanced technology, and the decline worsened over the years. See the FED, Zorky and Kiev models, the early of which were true Leitz and Zeiss replicas, and downhill from there. If cameras had souls, they had grimaced looking at their descendants.  True, all that did not stop them from running production and exports in the millions, but buyers were attracted by the price, nothing else.

But there is always a but. There were some outliers, where the Leningrad comes to mind. It is a true socialist flag carrier, although it did not have much commercial success.

On a side note, a literary view of what motivated the Soviets’ brightest minds can be found in Solzhenitsyn’s In the First Circle.

The Sokol

The camera on my desk was conceived and made in the USSR. Although it followed what other cameras in that class offered, it was not reverse-engineered or copied from another model; yet it offered similar features and quality to that class’s models at about 20% less. At the local market, it was expensive, about a month of an academic’s pay.

Initially, my database listed four Sokol models: Sokol and Sokol Automat, and Sokol 2 and Sokol Automat 2. A closer look revealed that each group consisted of the same model, just differently marked. The first Sokol had an early variant with six CdS meter lenses, which was shortly changed to three lenses under the same model name. The main difference between the Sokol and the Sokol 2 was the change to a hot accessory shoe on the latter, as well as X&M sync ports on late models. As with most Soviet models, the first two digits of the serial number denote the production year. That said, there were minor changes along the way, best listed at sovietcams.com. The camera was made in Leningrad by GOMZ/LOMO; more of it on the Sputnik page of this site.

The Sokol models were sold locally and at export markets, but I have no details of which market. I am wary of local buying power at the time, as consumer goods were far down the state’s priority list. The camera was tagged in Cyrillic letters as well as Latin, per the intended market. Poto Quelle sold it under Revue Auto RS, and other export variants also included the elusive Aurora Automat, Ladoga Automat, and Falke Auto; I have not seen any of these, just quote online sources. A stripped-down model was sold under LOMO 135A, and a scientific model without a lens is occasionally seen, which suggests there were quite a few of them.  Total production numbers of both models are estimated to be about 500,000, an impressive number, but it pales in comparison to the main soviet brands that were sold in the millions.

The camera was made with high aspirations, backed by the state, so production would run no matter what success it achieved. But although it was competitively priced, it was too complex/expensive for entry-level users and lacked the brand and quality aura for high-end buyers.

The camera has some quirks, so you’ll want to read the manual first. Good old Mike Butkus had fallen asleep, so the only online manual is in Russian.  Google Translate can help, using the lens feature.

Good to know:

• The battery bay is on top, under a film memo dial.
• Battery direction is confusing; insert it with the ‘–‘ pole up.
• Changing from auto to manual mode requires releasing the aperture dial away from the red ‘A’ mark. It takes cocking the shutter first, then pressing the fin on the base of the lens barrel towards the body and turning the aperture dial away from the ‘A’. The fin is arrow-marked.
• A mushroom-head slider at the back fascia by the winder lever is the battery check.
• The auto reset frame counter is at the bottom.

The camera is compact, on par with that class of cameras of the time, but is heavier. It is made of aluminum and steel sections, which mix was fairly uncommon. Other than the above quirks, it is easy to operate and is self-explanatory. The unit I have is very well preserved, with metal, glass, and skin; it is either evidence of the effort put into it, or it was owned by a kind user. Looking at other Sokols online, they all look faultless, so LOMO indeed did their homework.

• The camera is automatic, shutter priority. Set the shutter speed, and it will select the matching aperture. For manual mode, which can be used without a battery, release the aperture dial from the ‘A’ position and select as needed. The shutter speed and aperture values are presented in white at the bottom of the viewer. In auto mode, at underexposure, the trigger locks; in manual mode, a warning mark appears in the viewer. A half-press of the trigger shows the shutter and aperture values in the viewer.
• On the top right is the battery bay under a film-type memo; to its left is a remote trigger thread, with a hot accessory shoe towards the left. At first look, it is confusing, as the battery bay is where you’ll expect to find the winder, and the trigger should be where the remote trigger thread is. Nonetheless, the top, like the rest of the camera, is clean and well designed.
• At the back top, from right to left, are the battery check slider that lites a signal in the viewer, the winder lever is embedded within the body, having a fairly long travel, and the rangefinder window.
• The viewer is large and bright, with a live parallax frame that adjusts with the focusing dial.
• The hinged back opens via a sliding bolt protruding at the bottom left. Inside are well-made, finely finished two film bays, a double-cog pivot, and a take-off spool. The loaded cartridge locks into a spring-loaded, hinged fork, instead of the common pull-up rewind connector. A pressure plate and a guide roller are mounted on the back. All of that is on par with the Japanese and German best.
• The bottom hosts two base rings to balance the camera, a rewind release pin head and the auto-reset frame counter.
• The rewind crank is on the left shoulder, so the mechanism will be out of the viewer’s way.
• The front top has the viewer lens, the rangefinder window and the frosted pane for the parallax frame.
• The prominent trigger is hard to miss.
• The lens assembly is exceptionally user-friendly, well marked and easy to access:
  • Closest to the body is the aperture dial, set to auto mode by default. For manual mode cock the shutter and press the lever at seven o’clock, and turn the dial left to the desired f-stop.
  • Next is the focusing dial; on my camera, it is marked in feet and metric scales, good for any market.
  • The front end has a triple CdS meter lenses at the top, and at the bottom a small window showing the film speed. To change, press the serrated ring around the lens and turn it the way you want. Oddly, it is marked ASA, the US term, not DIN, the European norm.
  • The kit lens is a fast 2.8/50, a step up on the common run-of-the-mill cameras of the time.

For the user, it is a camera to have. On the Utility manufacturing page, I suggested having one to demonstrate how bad the US-made cameras could be. Here I play devil’s advocate and praise a camera from the other side of the curtain, a perfectly good model. For the shooter, find a fully operational camera, and you are good to go.