Old Photographer Series
I have always had a soft spot for cameras that know what they are. The Canon 5D Mark II is one of them.
It is not a pocket computer pretending to be a camera. It does not recognise every living creature on the planet, track an eye through a crowd or offer fourteen different ways of photographing a sleeping dog. It is a solid, straightforward full-frame DSLR, built at a time when the photographer was still expected to provide most of the intelligence.
Canon introduced the 5D Mark II in 2008. Its 21.1-megapixel full-frame sensor was considered something rather special then, and I would argue that it remains perfectly adequate now. Twenty-one megapixels will produce a fine large print, allow a reasonable crop and record more detail than most photographs genuinely need.
If I cannot make a worthwhile picture with 21 megapixels, another 30 or 40 million of the little buggers are unlikely to rescue me.
That is something we occasionally forget. Cameras have improved enormously, but photography has not changed nearly as much. We still need light, timing, composition and a reason to press the shutter. The subject must still matter. The photographer must still notice what everybody else walks past.
The 5D Mark II provides everything necessary to do that.
Its autofocus system is modest by present standards. There are nine visible autofocus points, and most photographers quickly discover that the centre point is the one to trust. That was never a serious problem for me. I learned photography when cameras could not detect eyes, faces or animals. We focused on the part of the picture that mattered, recomposed when necessary and got on with the job.
There is nothing wrong with modern autofocus. It is astonishingly clever and genuinely useful. But clever equipment can encourage lazy cameramanship. When a camera promises to find the subject, focus on the correct eye and follow it around the frame, it becomes tempting to stop thinking.
The 5D Mark II makes no such promises. It asks you to participate.
You lift it to your eye and look through a proper optical viewfinder. You see the world as it is, not as an electronic screen thinks you would like it to appear. The camera does not brighten the shadows, simulate the exposure or show the finished photograph before it has been made. You read the light, choose your settings and take responsibility for the result.
Then the mirror rises and the shutter fires with a satisfying mechanical clack.
A photograph has been made. You can hear it and feel it.
I like that. Perhaps it is because I am an old photographer, but I enjoy a camera that behaves like a machine. I want buttons I can find without looking, a decent grip and controls that make sense. I do not want to negotiate with pages of menus before taking a picture of somebody standing in good light.
The Canon’s large rear control wheel remains one of the best pieces of camera design ever produced. It falls naturally beneath the thumb, and after a little use, the camera begins to disappear in the hands. That is the point at which a piece of equipment becomes useful. You stop thinking about operating it and begin concentrating on what is happening in front of you.
The files from the 5D Mark II still have a lovely quality. They contain plenty of detail, attractive colour and particularly pleasing skin tones. Faces look warm and human rather than clinically perfect. With a decent lens and sympathetic light, it can produce portraits with depth, subtlety and character.
It does require reasonably accurate exposure. The sensor does not possess the extraordinary dynamic range of more recent cameras. If you badly underexpose a file and then try to drag three or four stops of detail out of the shadows, you may encounter noise or banding. Highlights also need watching.
I consider that a useful lesson rather than a fatal weakness.
Photography was never meant to be an endless exercise in rescuing careless exposures. The 5D Mark II encourages me to look at the light, check the histogram and get the picture close to correct when I take it. The RAW file gives me room to work, but it should not become an ambulance sent to collect every photographic mistake.
Put a 35mm or 50mm prime on the camera and it becomes a straightforward walkabout companion. There is no crop-factor arithmetic and no enormous collection of lenses to carry. A 35mm allows me to work close and include some environment. A 50mm gives a natural view of the street without making everything feel either stretched or compressed.
Fit an 85mm and the 5D Mark II becomes a very capable street-portrait camera. That combination gives me enough working distance to observe without immediately crowding the subject. I can concentrate on the eyes, expression and background. The autofocus may not put on a technological performance, but the central point is dependable. Place it carefully, confirm focus and take the picture.
One accurate focus point is worth more than a hundred dancing in the wrong place.
The 5D Mark II is not a lightweight camera, but neither is it the great lump that a Canon 1D-series body can be. It feels substantial without becoming a punishment. Add a small prime lens and it is perfectly manageable for a day on the street—although, at my age, I reserve the right to complain about the weight after several hours.
The camera is famous for something beyond still photography. Its ability to record Full HD video with a full-frame sensor helped to change filmmaking. Independent filmmakers could suddenly create shallow depth of field and a cinematic look without hiring hugely expensive equipment. It appeared in television productions, documentaries and music videos, and its influence reached far beyond ordinary photography.
That is an important part of its history, but it is not the reason I would carry one.
I would carry it because it makes photographs.
Not photographs processed by computational trickery before I have even seen them. Not perfectly sanitised files scrubbed of every trace of noise, texture and imperfection. Photographs made with a shutter, a mirror, a good lens and a photographer who was paying attention.
Buying a 5D Mark II today requires some care. These are old cameras, and many were worked hard by wedding photographers, studio photographers and filmmakers. A few scratches would not worry me, but I would check the shutter, sensor, card slot, control wheels, buttons and autofocus. I would rather buy a clean, honest example from somebody who used it carefully than save a little money on a camera that has spent fifteen years being hammered.
Its CompactFlash cards feel old-fashioned. The rear screen is dated, live view is slow and video operation is primitive compared with modern machines. There is no in-body stabilisation, no electronic viewfinder and no miraculous autofocus system waiting to save the day.
Good.
Sometimes removing convenience restores concentration.
I would never claim that the Canon 5D Mark II is technically better than a modern mirrorless camera. It is not. New cameras offer cleaner high-ISO images, faster shooting, greater dynamic range and autofocus systems that appear to perform small acts of witchcraft.
But technical superiority does not automatically produce better photographs. Cameras can recognise an eye, but they cannot recognise sadness, dignity, humour or loneliness. They cannot understand why one gesture matters and another does not. They cannot know when an ordinary street scene has briefly become something worth remembering.
That responsibility remains with the person holding the camera.
This is why old cameras still matter to me. They have character, personality and soul. They are not simply tools; after enough years and enough miles, they become companions. We learn their strengths, forgive their weaknesses and stop asking them to be anything other than what they are.
The Canon 5D Mark II comes from a time when a camera was built to make pictures and the photographer was trusted to provide the ideas. It does enough without attempting to do everything. It gives me a full-frame sensor, pleasing files, a clear optical viewfinder and direct control over the exposure.
The rest is up to me.
Charge the battery, insert a card, attach a good lens and take it into the street. Forget its age. Forget the latest specifications. Look through the viewfinder and pay attention to the world.
If I return home with nothing worthwhile, I cannot blame its nine autofocus points or its 21 megapixels.
If I return with one photograph that genuinely matters, the Canon 5D Mark II will have done everything a camera was ever built to do.
a world without pictures is like coffee without cream and sugar, bitter 