SEDE Kelvin Major

After working on the Sirio Elettra and a few other Italian cameras, I now proceed with the Kelvin camera, made by S.E.D.E., or SEDE for convenience. As mentioned before, the Italian camera industry was not as grand as those of Germany, the Soviet Union, or Japan, and lasted for just over a few decades.  While the Germans and Japanese aimed for quality and the Soviets for mass numbers, the Italians had lower aspirations: several early post-war high-end camera makers, some mass-market product suppliers, and some in between, where the Kelvin and its sisters were positioned.

SEDE came onstage in Rome in the early 1950s and lasted for just over a decade. The official name was Societa Elettronica e Dinamica Elettrica, translated as Electronic and Electrical Dynamics Company. Again, as with the SIRIO, a high-flying name for a startup. The founders were a pharmacist with capital and an industry veteran with the idea. As with other similar ventures, it took more hope and good intentions to succeed.

SEDE’s portfolio was thin, with all models based on the same platform with negligible variants.

• Kelvin Major, four shutter speeds.
• Kelvin Minor, as the Major, Fixed aperture shutter speeds of B & 40.
• Kelvin Royal, a Major with German glass and a leaf shutter.
• Kelvin K, a #127 format.
• Vinkel, 1963, a redressed Kelvin.
• Vinkel De Luxe, a dressed-down Kelvin. Nothing to justify the name.
• Vinkel 50, a further-dressed-down De Luxe, with a fixed aperture and a single shutter speed.

Other than the Kelvin K, all cameras used the 35mm film format. I could not find an image of the Kelvin K online or in print.

Little information is available about the models. Exact introduction dates are vague; all were introduced between the mid-1950s and mid-1960s.
McKeown’s recognizes only the first two Kelvins above, and the last two Vinkels.  Furthermore, it seems there were two companies involved with the legacy, one offering the Kelvin and the other the Vinkel. The naming convention is odd, as the Vinkle is an anagram of Kelvin. The relationship between the companies and their rationale behind it is left for the historian to explore.  The Vinkel design was less aggressive than the Kelvin, having more relaxed lines. Overall production of both lines was less than 50,000 units, probably all sold in the local market.

The logic behind this camera is unclear. I understand the need for a cheap, entry-level camera in the 1960s, and many models were offered to meet that need. This camera looks as if it was made to punch over its weight, with a heavy, well-made body, but with grossly basic optics and mechanics, kind of two opposite ends lumped together. The other camera in the low-end category, either German or Italian, had a stamped metal body or a poor aluminum casting, to match the camera’s entry-level core, lens, and shutter. Further, the Kelvin has a lever winder, which was offered in a higher camera class. In short, the camera is an oxymoron, so it did not fit into any market segment, which contributed to the company’s short-lived existence.

• The camera body is all metal, seems cast aluminum, as is from the mould, no polishing. It is compact, easy to balance in a small hand, which is uncommon for bulky era cameras. The overall design is overboard, looks as if it was taken from a Mad Max set. Traditional Italian designs are often described as subtle and harmonious, which is not the case here. It brings to mind the Toronto ROM, or the Louvre Pyramid, where contrasting elements do not sit peacefully together and end up as an eyesore.
  The front of the camera is bold, with oversized sprockets reminiscent of a Modern Times movie poster, while the back is a classic camera body.
• The camera top holds a neat lever winder, easy to grasp. A frame counter window is embedded in its base, with a notch on the opposite side with a serrated wheel for resetting. A cold accessory shoe and a rewind knob complete the top. There is a pinhole by the trigger, which on some cameras indicates whether it was cocked; here, I do not see any indicator.
• The back comes fully out, with a thumb screw at the top. I guess it is designed so that the bottom camera section is an integral part of the body. There is no pressure plate. The bottom has sharp edges; they could have debarred it.
• Inside is a nicely finished compartment, with a film path raw out of the cast. In almost all cameras, the track is machined for a smooth film transport. A very large take-off drum at the right, which I think is better than the common thin spindle. What it also means is that, with the large diameter, the distances between the frames remain almost constant, eliminating the need for film-feeding cogs, which are missing here.
• The viewer is small, yet bigger than the other era cameras I have looked at recently.
• The lens assembly is immense, a delight for a large-handed user and a dread for delicate hands:
  • Closest to the body is a cartwheel-inspired dial that sets the aperture, with options of 8, 16, and 22. For such a dial, I would have expected much more.
  • Next is the shutter speed dial, a down-to-earth serrated dial that also offers limited settings of B, 25, 50, and 100.
  • At the very front is another mighty dial, setting the distance. For some reason, the values are visible only when looking straight from the top.
  • No filter thread over the lens.
• The shutter is a rotating disk with punched holes that passes in front of the lens at varying speeds.

As mentioned above, the Kelvin Minor is similar, with the aperture discounted to a fixed 8, and speeds of B and 40.

For the collector, I would recommend having one on the shelf. It is an odd camera, representing how not to build a camera for the masses. They are inexpensive, though few are offered for sale. The mechanics are simple, so the surviving cameras are likely functional.