Tools for the job

Consider for a moment the humble bottle-opener. An unsung hero of the kitchen drawer, found in a million hotel rooms worldwide. Simple, effective and downright essential at times. It is basic, in a good way. Pared to it's bare functional essentials it is all that one needs to open a bottle. A shaped hole at one end, and a corkscrew that, more often than not, folds out.

Simple. It does the job.

Or does it? Type the words "bottle opener" into Amazon and you get an astonishing twenty-six thousand, five hundred and fifty-six hits. The cheapest is 49 pence and the most expensive (by Le Creuset) an eye-watering £99.00. Both will open a bottle, so why the difference? Why such disparity?

Manufacturing cost is one answer, of course. One is made of chrome-plated steel, the other of aircraft grade aluminium. Quality is a factor, as is aesthetics and design. But a bottle is a bottle is a bottle. It doesn't care if you use a high-end tool or something that you got free out of a cracker. Both are tools for the job.

It's a short step from bottle-openers to clasp knives. Another tool to do a straightforward job. You would think, wouldn't you? Consider the Opinel "No. 7"; a single blade, a simple beechwood handle, 9cm long. Then consider the Victorinox "Swiss Champ XLT" - 50 functions crammed into the same 9cm length. Both will cut things for you, from a piece of string to your finger, but they are worlds apart both in design and concept, quite apart from the fact that one sounds like a lipstick and the other a turbocharged Gruyère cheeseburger.

The Opinel is spartan in it's simplicity - no more than a sharp blade in a simple handle. The handle is organically ergonomic, offering a firm, sure and comfortable grip. The only "advanced technology" in the entire design is the simple locking collar that prevents the blade from closing on your fingers in use. It is simple, light and will last a lifetime. The Champ is on the other hand the exact polar opposite in concept and execution. Weighing in at a pocket-straining quarter of a kilo, it is packed with features and functions, ranging from a large blade to a toothpick, via assorted screwdrivers (flat and cross-head) torx bits, wood and metal saws, a fish scaler and disgorger and of course a "pharmaceutical spatula".

The two tools represent extreme approaches to the same requirement - the provision of a portable tool. Whilst it is true to say that the Champ offers by far the more functions, it does so in a heavy, unwieldy package that sits uncomfortably both in the pocket and in the hand. Have you ever tried to use a Swiss Army Knife for more than a minute or so to cut through something? The corkscrew digs into the palm of your hand. Great when you have a break and want to open that bottle of Chateau Lafitte, but bloody annoying when you are cutting through one length of carpet after another.

The Opinel on the other (less sore) hand does just one thing and it does it extremely well. It is a knife. It cuts things. If you want to cut things (as opposed to scaling fish) it is by far the better choice.

And that brings me to camera design (you knew I would get there in the end...) Consider the Opinel as a Leica M. It fits in the hand like a glove. It's basic design has remained unchanged for over half a century. It does what it sets out to do, without compromise or digression. It does not have autofocus, face recognition (nay, not even Pentax's pet face recognition), or HDR. It eschews little-used features in favour of giving the experienced, confident photographer what he wants - a tool to do the job.


"Leica" vs "Canon" - simplicity vs. stuff...

You can manage aperture, shutter speed and ISO; balancing the three will result in a correctly exposed image under most circumstances - all you have to do is point the camera at the right thing, at the right time and press the shutter at the right moment. How hard is that? Consider now the Champ as a Canon or Nikon DSLR - large, heavy, a "master of all trades" - albeit you need a jack to lift it. It doesn't quite cut boxes as well as a box-cutter, nor cut wood as well as a rip saw. It isn't quite as good at pruning roses as secateurs and the pharmaceutical spatula is very hard to sterilise, but what the hey, it's ALL IN ONE!

Mediocrity of design reached it's apogee in the 1980s with the myriad of jellymould designs that followed in the wake of the Ford Sierra. For a time 90% of the cars on the road looked the same - half-melted metal boxes. The designers claimed it was because form followed function - this was the result of wind tunnel testing to achieve the best drag co-efficient. But it was BORING and counter-productive. Over time diversity reared it's beautiful head once again and cars today are again easily differentiated from 50 feet away.

Canon, Nikon and the rest produce fine products that aim to be all things to all men, provided those men have the patience to read through a 300 page manual (actually the theory falls apart right there, doesn't it?), have the biceps of a bodybuilder or a live-in chiropractor. Leica produces pared-down, minimalist cameras for photographers who know how to use a camera.

Simple.

Bill

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- All images on this blog are copyright Bill Palmer and may not be reproduced in any format or medium without permission.