Olympus Pen W Half-Frame Film Camera Review
With History Overview and High-Res Scans
15 min read by Dmitri.Published on .
Olympus PEN Wides are some of the prettiest half-frame film cameras ever made. Painted brass only looks better with wear, and an all-black pocketable design is decades ahead of its time. These cameras use no batteries or depleted selenium meters, offering full control over the mechanical system, complete with zone-focusing.
The delightful experience of a clockface-like winder with perfectly balanced lens controls and a surprisingly comfortable viewfinder is the result of Olympus’ other immensely successful design: the original Olympus PEN — Japan’s first half-frame camera.
The Wide is a crown jewel of the revolutionary viewfinder Olympus PEN series¹. But it’s not just a shelf queen; this camera is so compact and delightful that I spent months photographing coastal BC with it for this review (instead of the intended week at home) — and I’ve got high-res scans for you in this article.
In this review: A brief history of the Olympus PEN cameras — Maitani Yoshihisa’s design legacy. Technical specifications. Olympus PEN W vs. PEN S. Olympus PEN W build quality. Olympus PEN W in use: design and ergonomics. Olympus E. Zuiko W 25mm 𝒇2.8 lens. Is Olympus PEN W worth the price? How to find a reliable Olympus PEN W camera. Support this blog & get premium features with GOLD memberships!
¹ — Unless you can get your hands on a gold edition of this camera, which is extremely rare.
My involvement in camera design lasted around 20 years, from the Olympus Pen in 1959 to the XA Series in 1979… You might think that everything was smooth sailing for me, but there were mountains to climb and chasms to cross. Somehow I found a way through, and as a result we were able to create these products.
— Maitani Yoshihisa speaking at JCII Camera Museum on Saturday, October 29, 2005.
A brief history of the Olympus PEN cameras — Maitani Yoshihisa’s design legacy.
The Olympus PEN camera designs are veiled in technical brilliance, risk-taking, and wealth.
My family had a soy sauce manufacturing business in Shikoku. There was a Leica IIIf in the house, which I took out and used without asking… At that time a Leica IIIf cost about 190,000 yen, while the average monthly salary for a government employee in those days was around 7,000 yen.
Maitani might’ve never got to see his designs roll off the factory floor if he hadn’t been born into the right family. Still, he was a good photographer, an opinionated engineer, and an exceptionally driven employee destined to grow into a celebrated camera designer.
The original PEN was his debut project at Olympus, which Maitani took on after spending two years of practicum on the factory floor. He pitched the half-frame idea to his bosses, who loved the idea; “get twice the pictures for half the price” is an easy sell.
However, as Maitani’s new half-frame camera would be the first of its kind, the lens had to be designed from the ground up. So he approached Olympus’ optics department and asked them to make the best one they could:
I told them I needed a lens of the best quality, one that would be equal to the Leica's Tessar type lens. The person in charge of lens design told me that this was the first time he had received such a request. He said that they were usually asked to cut costs by a certain amount, or to create the best possible lens within a certain price range. I had said nothing about the price. I simply asked them to make a lens as good as the Leica lens. The lens designers were delighted to take up this challenge, and the result was the legendary D-Zuiko. They created a really wonderful lens for me.
— Maitani Yoshihisa, at JCII Camera Museum.
Maitani’s supervisors had a few laughs at his expense as Mr. Yoshihisa’s lob-sided accounting left him with a slim budget for the rest of the camera.
Maitani’s strict, self-imposed budget for his camera project may have been the first time this young designer felt poor in his life. His PEN design was approved for a 6,000 yen camera made for the market topped by the 190,000 Leica IIIf, whereas Olympus’ cheapest camera cost 23,000 yen. Yet his measured reaction to that problem produced one of the most celebrated photographic products ever.
As someone who’s been professionally on the edge of marketing, design, and engineering for the past 25 years, I witnessed countless battles between sales insisting on adding new features and designers (backed by engineers) asking to cut them back. Feature bloat affects the overall quality of the product as well as its users’ ability to understand and be efficient with it. But features help sales; thus, the battles remain.
In the 1950s, progress was made in mechanical camera design, which introduced self-resetting frame counters, precise rangefinder systems, and film advance levers. These features may seem trivial, but they add over 50 components to camera assemblies and high additional costs. Yet the upper-ups thought that these features were a must-have to compete with the likes of Leica. They were wrong.
The first Olympus PEN camera had to be subcontracted to a third-party manufacturer, Sanko Shoji, as the Olympus factory manager refused to manufacture Maitani’s “toy camera.” It didn’t have the bells and whistles he’d expect from a modern camera — just a thumb film advance and a manually resettable film counter. An obsessive photographer, Maitani knew that the lens was the most important part of the camera; the rest of the features were extras he (and his customers) could live without as long the camera took good photos, was small, and was priced affordably.
In the end, the Sanko Shoji-made “toys” were very well-made. They ended up selling better than Maitani’s unconventionally optimistic expectations:
I was allowed to attend and speak at the planning meeting held when the Olympus Pen went into production. Someone asked me how many I expected to sell. Statistics had just been published showing that there were 7 million cameras in all of Japan, including those tucked away in the bottoms of drawers. I thought that half the number, say 3 million, would be replaced by half-sized cameras, and that Olympus could capture half of that market, so I replied that we could sell 1.5 million units. Everyone was astonished and laughed out loud. Eventually we decided on a monthly production figure of 5,000, which was unprecedented. But the Pen sold so quickly that production couldn't keep up with demand, and soon sales staff were demanding to know when we could send more stock.
The result was the rise of Maitani’s design dominance at Olympus:
When we developed the Pen S, we priced it at 7,000 yen. The factory manager who had refused to produce the Pen now begged to be allowed to make this camera.
Maitani’s minimalist design principle continued to evolve and challenge marketing misconceptions when he later drew the plans for the Olympus PEN EE, likely the world’s first point-and-shoot camera. It had just one button thanks to a fixed-focus lens and a selenium meter (Ricoh later copied it with their Auto Half).
In the talk I’m quoting, Maitani explains that his point-and-shoot idea was fueled by his desire to mansplain camera settings to a woman he observed using his PEN camera. While the first PEN camera wasn’t specifically tailored to any population other than the male-dominated market, his next camera was made with women “in mind.”
PEN W was manufactured years after the introduction of the point-and-shoot PEN EE as a special black-paint edition of PEN S with an extra-wide 25mm lens. Some believe there could’ve been more of these cameras made, but the black paint’s chemistry had a flaw that caused it to flake easily, thus condemning the design. But in my opinion, the dull golden glow from underneath jet-black paint is one of the prettiest ways to highlight wear marks on a product.
Technical specifications.
My Olympus PEN W weighs 383g/13.5oz without film. With a lens cap on excluding the strap lugs, it measures 107mm × 67mm × 43mm (4.2” × 2.6” × 1.7”).
The W has a top (leaf) shutter speed of 1/250s and the slowest speed of an eighth of a second + Bulb.
The lens is an E. Zuiko W 25mm 𝒇2.8-22 with the closest focusing distance of 60cm (~2’, only metric markings on the lens). The lens clicks at all apertures and key distances for zone focusing: 2m and 5m. The 25mm focal length’s angle of view on a half-frame is equivalent to a 35mm focal length on a full-frame.
The viewfinder has bright lines projected via the second frosted window with parallax markings for close focusing.
There’s a tripod hole, a remote shutter port, and a cold accessory shoe. But you need to set your frame counter manually each time after loading film.
A PC flash sync port is covered by a black plastic button. I’ve never tested mine, but it should sync at all shutter speeds.
Olympus PEN W vs. PEN S.
Olympus PEN W is similar to Olympus PEN S.
There were two variants of PEN S, one with an 𝒇3.5 lens and the other with an 𝒇2.8 lens. PEN W uses an 𝒇2.8 lens.
The W’s lens design preserves the original PEN’s wide angle of view (25mm, equivalent to about 35mm on a full frame) while adding an extra f-stop of brightness. The PEN S has a reduced angle of view of 30mm, equivalent to about 42mm on a full frame.
PEN S has an aluminum shell. PEN W uses painted brass. They weigh about the same.
In 2024, a PEN W can be found for $300-600 (depending on condition), while a Pen S will cost you around $70-120.
Olympus PEN W build quality.
Olympus PEN W is one of the nicest cameras ever to touch my shelf.
Maitani may’ve saved costs by skipping features, but Olympus did not skimp on build quality with the W. This half-frame camera feels and looks like a precise instrument engineered with high-quality metal parts. Everything fits perfectly, no space is wasted, and no expense is spared on secondary parts like latches and dials.
Simply put, the Olympus PEN W is a compact premium film camera.
Olympus PEN W in use: design and ergonomics.
Olympus PEN W is small, quiet, and unimposing. It’s fully manual, so you have to know how to zone focus, carry a light meter, or know your Sunny 16 rule.
Advancing film is an absolute delight on this camera. As you scroll the wheel to the right, the frame counter’s “watch face” rotates 180° clockwise, and the small metal pointer shifts one frame up. All this is accompanied by a quick succession of clicks.
As with many cameras of its period, the back cover detaches entirely on PEN W, but loading film isn’t difficult. You just have to remember to reset the film counter by pressing down and rotating the silver button on top of the “watch face” until the arrow points to zero.
The viewfinder is small but still usable with glasses (with the lens touching the camera’s back). It’s bright, and I appreciate seeing the frame lines in it.
All the exposure and focus controls are on or around the lens. They are a little fiddly, though I had no issues with my fairly average-sized hands. There are clicks for the distance marks at 2m and 5m and for all apertures, but there are no clicks for shutter speeds.
You can even mount a tiny filter on the lens.
This camera can be made fast in use. At 𝒇8 and 5m mark, it’ll keep most things in focus from portrait to infinity, whereas the Sunny 16 rule dictates shutter speed settings without the need to fiddle with another gadget. It’s not a point-and-shoot, but all the controls are in the exact places you’d expect them to be, and nothing is in the way. I had no trouble taking action shots from a distance.
It’s certainly too heavy for a shirt pocket, but it can easily fit in a jacket, purse, or baggy pants. I barely noticed the weight of my PEN W as I carried it in my hoodie along the hikes connecting the Vancouver Island beaches.
Olympus E. Zuiko W 25mm 𝒇2.8 lens.
The E. Zuiko W 25mm lens is far from modern standards of optical perfection. When shot wide-open, it renders swirly, noticeably soft corners, particularly when you blow up the half-frame format to a print size (or this web page as viewed on a large screen).
I expected the lens to be sharper. I found no high-res scans posted with this or the S cameras online, so I assumed the tiny Instagram and outdated website images hid some resolution. Turned out there were some imperfections hidden behind the pixels.
But can I stay mad at a sixty-four-year-old budget-friendly film camera for not sporting a tack-sharp lens?
No.
The consequent Olympus PEN half-frame SLR lenses could produce better resolution on film. But the E. Zuiko W can still make beautiful, picturesque renderings with plenty of contrast.
The lens becomes sharper when shot at smaller apertures (𝒇8-𝒇11). This is when the corner distortions also disappear. The photos can be printed large when shooting the W like that, but there’s still something to using E. Zuiko W at less-than-optimal settings and seeing them in small print or display. Particularly with fine-grained films like Kodak Ektar, which work wonderfully in full sun (𝒇11 + 1/250s) and give a silky texture to the soft renderings of the lens.