There’s a certain danger that comes with longing too hard for the olden days. Spend too much time looking backward, and you fail to find the joys of the present. I don’t want to be one of those people who misremembers a supposedly better time, and I think I have a grip on what’s improved during my lifetime, but there’s a growing body of evidence that suggests things aren’t better now than they were in the past.
This grand statement is admittedly too grand. Much could be said about the state of the environment, the state of the politics in any number of the countries in which many of us were born and live, pop culture, of art and technology, about design sensibilities and city planning and the entertainment industry and the sorts of cars that are being made and how many people read books in relation to the number of people who doom-scroll, and the many policies of the National Hockey League.
I’m not really talking about any of that, though I could. The short of it, is that every day I experience something awful and say, “Wait, this used to be great. What the fuck happened?”
At those moments, I worry that I may be becoming too retrospective. Then again, maybe things really have gotten worse.
In the Michael Crichton novel Timeline (1999), a group of graduate students are sent through a quantum wormhole to an earlier time, France in the 14th century. It’s not “time travel,” as time travel isn’t technically possible according to quantum mechanics. The students simply leave our known universe and appear in a parallel universe, where they get into all sorts of medieval mischief, save their wayward professor, and come back to tell the tale. Well, some of them come back…
As with most of Crichton’s novels, Timeline is half novel, half one-sided conversation with a nerd who got really interested in one specific topic and wants to talk to you about it for 464 pages of text. It’s great if you’re also a nerd, which I happen to be.
At one point in Timeline, Crichton writes about the ebb and flow of human civilization and makes the point that we people living in the modern era (and specifically in the western hemisphere) have enjoyed an unprecedented span of nearly constant improvement in every facet of life for hundreds of years. In science and medicine, economic prosperity, life expectancy, the infant mortality rate, and nearly every other statistical indicator of health, safety, and quality of life, things have only gotten better for as long as any now living person can recall.
But Crichton also mentions that this state of being is not a given. He references eras in which things have simply gone to hell, and asserts that without careful attention and a lot of luck, it’s very possible for things to get worse seemingly at random and for reasons beyond anyone’s control. The theory is that the innumerable factors of cause and their endlessly cascading effects are so granular and vast that it’s virtually impossible for any one of us, and indeed any of us together as a group, to objectively observe, control, or understand… anything.
Crichton wrote wonderful novels in his day. They moved and they taught. They blended science and technical details with purposeful plotlines and quick action, and he explored emotions and philosophies with intelligent, diverse, and believable characters. Crichton’s types of novels aren’t being made anymore. At least, it seems that way. If they are, they’re so unpopular that no one’s publishing them, and those that are published take a backseat to stories which hang their entire skin on a skeleton of “vibes,” or use hundreds of pages to “tell, don’t show” with painfully one-dimensional characters and hardly any subtext, metaphor, or flourish. The most popular stories today are ones in which characters feel a lot and nothing happens.
Then again, I may be being too retrospective about literature, and I’m probably wrong. And even if I’m not, it doesn’t matter. There are bigger things to worry about. Which reminds me of just how bad the internet has become in the last three years.
Large Language Model machines, which everyone shorthandedly refers to ad nauseam as Artificial Intelligence, or“AI,” despite their total lack of intelligence, have spent the last three years consuming billions of dollars and incalculable amounts of electrical energy mostly extracted from the burning of fossil fuels to amass an unprecedented horde of stolen intellectual property in order that Google may better serve you ads when you search “How to load film into a Canon AE1?”
Instead of directing searchers to a website or video created by a human being which would answer your question and most likely otherwise enrich your life, by harvesting that same data on the internet, Google can instead give you their own regurgitated form of that information at the top of the search result page. This ensures that your eyes and attention never leave their control. They can also sell you something just underneath that “AI-generated” search result, which is in fact Google’s entire reason for being.
But make no mistake, their product is theft, and the “AI” revolution is destructive to the planet and to the repository of information and entertainment and learning that the egalitarian internet was supposed to be. And every day I recall (fondly and somewhat sadly) the internet of my youth, in which people simply made cool stuff that they were interested in and shouted it out into “cyberspace” to be heard by others who might share their enthusiasm. They did it for no money, usually. Nowadays, everyone’s monetized their lives and hobbies, and every post is an ad sandwiched with other actual ads. The internet is shitty now.
But again- too retrospective about the good ol’ days of the ‘net, possibly wrong, and the problem is so big and granular that I can’t really get my head around it anyway. So, let’s move on and get retrospective about something really stupid.
Consumer electronics. I love them. Cameras, music players, projectors and game systems, wearable technology, computers and electronics; when these are well-designed and (this is key) interesting, they bring me so much joy. Since you’re reading my website, which for ten years has published articles exploring the wonder of things like knurled camera dials and pieces of glass that shine prettily when you look at them in the sun, it’s safe to assume that you, too, enjoy the occasional interesting device.
That’s the right way to be. If you’ve ever tried to make something (anything), you’ll know just how impossible it is, so the fact that a small Japanese company, for example, made a neat camera that looks like a tomato is worth celebrating. I’ve celebrated for a long time. Thanks for joining me.
My latest obsession is a special camera. The Canon Sure Shot Del Sol is a point-and-shoot 35mm film camera from 1995 whose battery is charged by a large, built-in solar panel. It’s sleek and compact, looks like nothing else in the world, and has so many inspired little design flourishes that it’s impossible not to feel a bit retrospective about a lost past in which technology companies consistently made weird shit.
I don’t think I’m being nostalgic. They just don’t make things like this anymore.
Canon Sure Shot Del Sol Specifications
- Type: Fully automatic 35mm lens-shutter autofocus camera
- Picture Size: 24×36 mm and panorama (13×36 mm) (Japanese version only)
- AF System: 3-point Smart Autofocus (AF range: 0.45 m – infinity); Close-up warning; Prefocus enabled
- Lens: 32mm f/3.5 (3 elements in 3 groups); camera ready 1 second after front cover opens
- Shutter: Electromagnetic programmed shutter and aperture
- Flash Auto Mode: EV 9.5 (f/3.5 at 1/60 s) – EV 17 (f/22 at 1/250 s)
- Flash-On Mode: EV 7 (f/3.5 at 1/60 s) – EV 17 (f/22 at 1/250 s) and EV 3 (f/3.5 at 2 s) – EV 7 (f/22 at 1/250 s)
- Flash-Off Mode: EV 3 (f/3.5 at 2 s) – EV 17 (f/22 at 1/250 s)
- Built-in electronic self-timer
- Direct viewfinder: 0.32× magnification, 84% coverage
- Framing guides: image-area, AF spot
- OK-to-Shoot LED (green): solid for focus, slow blink for close-up warning, fast blink for camera-shake warning, off during flash recycling
- Exposure Modes: Auto a-Si cell, AE lock enabled; Metering range: EV 3 – 17
- Film speed: ISO 25 – 3200 (DX coded)
- Flash: fixed, Guide No. 6.8 (ISO 100, meters), auto in low light, slow-sync, red-eye reduction lamp
- Date/time imprint: Year/Month/Day or Day/Hour/Minute
- Power Source: Tandem amorphous solar cell; Lithium-ion battery
- Film loading: auto-load after aligning leader and closing back
- Film advance: automatic at 1 fps
- Frame counter: counts up, resets when back is opened
- Film rewind: automatic, with mid-roll rewind
- Dimensions: 124 × 67 × 46 mm
- Weight: 260 g (with battery)
What is the Canon Sure Shot Del Sol
The Canon Sure Shot Del Sol, known in Japan as the Autoboy SE and in Europe as the Prima Sol, is a point-and-shoot 35mm film camera powered by the sun. It was first released in 1995, a time when the internet, literature, and consumer electronics were objectively more interesting than what we have today.
Sorry. Let’s focus on the camera.
It’s from Canon’s Sure Shot range of cameras, a long-running series of auto-everything cameras that were intended to be used by people who wanted to take pictures effortlessly. Point the camera at the thing you love and press the button. The camera handled all the math of exposure, the tricky distance measurements of focus, and even advancing and rewinding the film. Easy peasy.
It’s small and light, fits in a bag or pocket easily, feels comfortable in the hands, and refuses to confuse you with any more buttons than are exactly necessary.
On top, there’s a big, orange shutter release button. Half-press this gorgeous little splash of color to focus and set exposure, then full press it to take a picture. Near that is another pill-shaped button which sets the camera’s self-timer mode.
On the left side of the body there are three press-and-hold buttons; one to turn off the camera’s built-in automatic flash, one to fire it in slow-speed flash mode (good for night shooting when you want a subject flashed, but a long shutter speed to capture low light backgrounds), and a little red button which activates an LCD to show battery level and solar charge level (how much power is being generated at any given time). Here we also find the switch to open the camera’s film door.
On the right side of the body there’s an interesting little lever. Flicking this hinges the camera’s solar panel into an angled position so that we can rest the camera on its backside and aim the solar panel toward the sun for charging. This ensures that the solar panel, which may get hot sitting in the sun, does not transfer that heat into the body of the camera itself. A very smart design, complemented by the feet we find on the camera’s film door which ensures the body doesn’t get scuffed or scratched when laid on its back for charging, another smart design.
The bottom of the camera has a tripod mount socket and the mid-roll film rewind button, which can be pressed with a pointed implement of any kind, or specifically (since we’re not animals) with the built-in button presser found on the plastic nib at the end of the camera’s included strap.
The Canon Sure Shot Del Sol’s On/Off switch is integrated into the large door which covers the body of the camera and doubles as the star of the show- the massive solar panel which charges the Del Sol’s battery. This door/lens cap/On/Off switch/solar panel flips open at a bottom-mounted hinge whenever we want to take a photo. Flip the cover down and the 32mm f/3.5 lens zips out from its home in the camera body, ready to take a picture. Flip the cover closed, and the lens retracts to safety.
Solar Charging
At full charge, the Del Sol’s lithium-ion battery is capable of shooting five to seven 24-exposure rolls of film. The true number of shots will depend on whether or not we’re using flash. As the battery depletes, the battery readout will show the battery level segmented in quarters.
Once totally dead, the camera’s battery can be charged to full in about six hours when sitting in strong sunlight. In the shade, the battery still charges, it just does so more slowly- 16 hours in the shade will bring the battery to full. The strength of the sunlight striking the solar panel at any given moment can be displayed alongside the battery gauge by pressing the info button on the side of the body.
Image Quality
Photos from the Canon Sure Shot Del Sol are similar to what we find with most point-and-shoot film cameras from the 1990s, which is to say that they’re great, and have a distinct visual identity that’s appealing today.
The lens vignettes, with the edges of the image being slightly darker than the middle. There’s light chromatic aberration and a general softening, again mostly relegated to the edges of the shot. None of these optical liabilities are egregious or distracting. Indeed they’re characteristic of cameras from the time when this camera was made, and the effect is one which is highly desirable for photo nerds in the modern era. If we want perfect images, we’re not shooting film through a point-and-shoot consumer-grade camera from the 1990s. These things are a feature, not a bug.
Shots are punchy and sharp, and the camera’s metering and autofocus systems work beautifully. The built-in flash is excellent, and the ability to control when and how it fires is a bonus.
Beyond that, there’s not much to analyze. Throw the Del Sol in your beach bag, shoot your shot, and enjoy life. That’s why we’re here.
Buyer’s Guide and Final Thoughts
If you’re buying the Canon Sure Shot Del Sol today, there are some considerations to be made. To start, unless the camera has been overhauled and its rechargeable battery replaced, it is likely that the ancient battery inside will be unable to charge or hold a charge. This battery is not “user-replaceable” and was designed to last the life of the machine. Canon did not, it seems, foresee the future in which we live, one in which taking photos with an old, quirky film camera is more desirable than shooting with an iPhone (when we can get it to stop push notifying us of the latest social media rage bait).
Oh no, I’m becoming retrospective again. Focus.
The built-in battery of the Del Sol must be replaced.
This process isn’t as complicated as you might think, but it will require the camera to be lightly disassembled. The entire operation involved four or five screws, removing the battery and replacing it with a new one. The process took me about fifteen minutes. If you’re not confident in your ability to replace the battery, try it anyway. Take your time and follow the convenient guide at my friend’s website.
If no amount of cajoling will make you pick up a screwdriver, send it to a camera repair or electronic repair shop. If they balk and say they can’t do it (which they might, because it’s likely that anyone working in an electronic repair shop today was a baby when the Del Sol was a current device), tell them it’s easy and you’ll supply a guide (then send them the link to the guide above).
Beyond that, I don’t know what to tell you. I can’t solve all your problems.
Next, you may want to consider which version of the camera will be best for your needs. Since the Japanese Autoboy SE has the built-in features of a date back and built-in Panorama switch, this may be the most technically desirable model, but you’ll have to buy it from a Japanese seller. If you don’t care to have the date feature or Pano switch (it’s not a true panorama anyway, just a cropped 35mm film frame), the Autoboy SE, Prima Sol, and Del Sol are all the same.
But before any of that, you’ll first have to decide whether you want to own a solar-powered camera. Because if we remove the solar factor, any other point-and-shoot film camera from the ‘90s will do everything the Del Sol does. Indeed, many of them are less expensive and won’t require battery surgery. So, yes, there are more practical ways to shoot film.
But the Canon Del Sol is everything I love about technology, and indeed it’s everything I love about life. It exists to have fun, to be a little bit different and interesting, to encourage us to get outside in the sunshine, and maybe chat with someone about the weird machine with the solar panels attached to its front.
I love the Del Sol, but I don’t know if you will. You might be a boring idiot. Who knows?
Whatever you decide, the Canon Sure Shot Del Sol is something special. It’s a beautiful example of the type of product that device manufacturers just don’t make anymore. A quirky, gimmicky camera that nevertheless works, and works well. It’s a perfect camera for summer, a perfect camera for remembering a better time, and one that’s great at recording our own (pretty good) days.
Get your own Canon Sure Shot Del Sol from eBay here
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Hi James, great to have you back!