On a cold, drizzly day in April, I stood in front of the electronics shelf at my local Goodwill and, from a jumble of used cords, stereos, and other gadgets, pulled forth a Polaroid Automatic 100 Land camera. I’d recognized the hard gray case instantly: though a slightly later model, mine is identical. I slipped off the case, resting it gingerly atop a beige landline phone, lifted the tiny metal lever, and unfolded the bellows. From a cursory inspection, I knew the camera had seen better days. It was, after all, close to 60 years old and, like many instant cameras, tarnished with blemishes and scars from a life well lived. That did not deter me from raising it to my eye and taking an obligatory look around the store. More than evaluating it for function, I held it for the pure, almost nostalgic joy of remembering what it felt like to experience such a camera, fully aware I’d rarely, if ever, have that experience again.
By the time I started getting into film photography in 2017, I thought for sure I’d missed my chance at ever using a Polaroid Automatic 100-400 series Land camera. Polaroid discontinued the pack film for it almost a decade prior. Then, in 2016, Fujifilm announced it would no longer produce its pack film, rendering these cameras—famously donned by the likes of Andy Warhol and Patti Smith—relics of the past.
But really, it was the film I mourned more than anything. In a way, it seems strange to mourn something you’re only peripherally familiar with. Before 2019, I had never made a picture with FP-100C or FP-3000B, Fujifilm’s color and black & white pack films, respectively. Nonetheless, I had long coveted their use by photographers I admired and nurtured the hope that one day I, too, would marvel at their vivid tonal range upon carefully peeling the glossy prints away from the negatives…
Naturally, once Fujifilm announced the demise of pack film (also known as peel-apart film), people scooped it up and started storing it in their fridges in stacks. I heard of people shelling out thousands of dollars and buying extra fridges just to house FP-100C. In the years following, the price sky-rocketed—going from $10 per pack (1 pack = 10 shots) to $30 and eventually $60. Today, a single expired pack of FP-100C runs for upwards of $100 on eBay and other secondhand marketplaces. It is out of stock everywhere else.
So, as people snatched up these dwindling film stocks by the armfuls, I wistfully looked on before turning my attention to developing negatives and making prints in the darkroom—a declining practice, but one I knew likely wasn’t going anywhere.
Then in 2019, I got my Mamiya RB67, or Arby. One of the accessories it came with—the RB67 has several attachments that allow for different methods of working—was a Polaroid back. This removable feature enables you to shoot pack film with a medium format camera, which has a much higher quality lens than any instant camera. When I discovered this, I was floored. What’s more: the Polaroid back that came with my Arby already had Fuji peel-apart film inside. I died. I actually perished. Then came back to life so I could shoot that pack of film.
To my dismay, the film was so old and dried up, the developer inside so crummy, none of the pictures even thought about turning out, and I threw the pack away. But it lit a fire in me. One way or another, I vowed to buy some peel-apart film [at a reasonable price] and make beautiful pictures with it if it was the last thing I did!
It wasn’t that hard to get my hands on some FP-100C. Turns out, people like to make a buck. As luck would have it, the Craigslist guy who sold me several packs of film was super enthusiastic and went out of his way to help me. After meeting up, we emailed about photography, and he gave me tips and steered me toward some resources I still use today.
“Glad these are going into good hands. I really miss Polaroid. I love the smell. I love the tonality. Their black and white was just incredible.
BTW, did you know that with FP-100C you have a negative and a print? You can clean and scan the negative and then either make prints via darkroom or once scanned, print as you would any scanned or digital photo. [You] will need [to make] some color adjustments, as any scanned film will.
Rather than bleach, as shown in this link, I use a Magic Eraser. Either way, it is messy. Wear gloves. But, super cool and the negative has [a] very different color palette than the print.
BTW Part 2, if you have not heard of or listened to…”
I cherished his help, and it wasn’t long before I picked up a Polaroid Automatic 250 Land camera (same as Patti) to round out my peel-apart experience. The only thing I wasn’t prepared to embrace was the messy negative situation. Why, I thought, if I already have a print, would I bother with the negative? Still, I saved most of the good ones, drying and storing them in a vintage toy suitcase, where they slept like dormant butterflies for years.
I drew the Polaroid Automatic 100 camera away from my eye, draped the weathered strap around my neck, and smiled at the familiar weight of its metal body resting against my chest. I’d missed the feeling more than I’d realized. After I’d made my last shot of FP-100C almost a year before—it took me over a year to work up the nerve to shoot it; the moment felt so final—I stashed my 250 model away and hadn’t touched it since. There was no more reason to.
I tinkered with the camera’s settings, comparing it to my own. I pondered its condition, who had used it last, and when. Where was it carried, and what did it carry? What kind of film? Was it FP-100C or something older? Maybe it was Polaroid. Or maybe…
I noticed the paper tabs sticking out from one end of the camera, indicating several pristine shots of FP-100C waiting to be used.
“Oh my god,” I said, barely under my breath. “There’s film in here.”
What followed next was something I never imagined I’d do in my life: I proceeded to quietly freak the fuck out in Goodwill.
“Are you joking?” I gasped, jaw slack. “Are you for real kidding me?!”
I laughed out loud and then turned, paranoid, to see if anyone had heard or seen me. As if someone was going to come and yank the camera and its film away from my grasp. As if anyone in their right mind would possibly do that.
I had to test it out immediately and see if the film was any good, so I made a picture, only in my haste, I neglected to adjust the exposure setting. I waited a few minutes while the print developed, then gently peeled it apart, the bittersweet smell of the chemistry flooding my nostrils and filling my heart to its brim. The print was dark, as expected. I made another, this time with the proper exposure setting, but then accidentally pulled out two shots instead of one (smh), which also turned out dark with zero evidence of even the faintest image.
Hm, I thought. Something’s up.
Having decided Goodwill probably wasn’t the best place to troubleshoot this issue, I carefully folded up the goopy negatives and tucked them in the pocket of my raincoat. Then I bought the camera for $14.99, and I went home.
I feel it’s important to acknowledge that I do not consider myself a technically adept photographer or troubleshooter. While I’ve gotten to grips with stuff like exposure and focus, for the most part, anything to do with the mechanical side of things, such as camera malfunctioning, is usually a distant speck on the horizon from my feelings-focused wheelhouse. With time, I am s l o w l y wrapping my head around photo editing and film scanning: two software-based skills I have more than once stood and left the room in hot, vicious frustration over. And while not exactly a technical error, one time in a lightless film-changing room, as I was prying open a roll of film with a bottle opener in preparation for development, I gouged my thumb so impressively that blood spurted everywhere, Tarantino-style, all over my film and clothes and the wall—an anecdote I share to underscore just the unique type of photo-related blunder I’m capable of.
All this being said, I will forever be impressed by my ability to discern “something was up” with the Polaroid Automatic 100’s exposure system. After testing out another dud shot, I deduced that either 1) there was a light leak somewhere, 2) a component impacting the exposure was faulty, or 3) the film was compromised in some unknown way, rendering it unable to produce an image. Not wanting to give up hope, I opted to try the next best thing: take out the film pack and transfer it in the dark to my fully functional Polaroid Automatic 250 model. That way, I would know, for sure, whether the problem was the film or the camera.
Clever, eh?
The fact I managed to successfully pull off this undertaking in a tiny closet without drawing blood is a win I’m hanging onto. The fact that not one, but two shots of FP-100C, albeit a bit hazy, subsequently turned out? Icing on the Polaroid-shaped cake.
Upon re-discovering the magic of shooting with peel-apart film—it’s such a sensuous experience, the satisfying pull of the print, the reveal, the smell—I began to question why I’d never attempted to clean the negatives before. It rapidly dawned on me how much untapped potential was likely sequestered away in that little suitcase with the plastic handle. How much buried enchantment, waiting to be exhumed.
In the days and weeks that followed, I set to learning how to wash my negatives in preparation for scanning them, a process that involves Clorox bleach gel, latex gloves, and a whole lot of care. Few things in recent memory have made me happier than standing over the kitchen sink at golden hour, the minty tang of bleach gel mixing with the heady scent of cut lilacs, watching strands of black gunk and goo swirl down the drain. Scanning, too, has felt revelatory. Prints I initially disregarded because they appeared too underexposed I’ve discovered come to life as scanned negatives. And witnessing their vibrant colors and imperfections emerge is just as pleasurable as holding a cleaned and dripping negative up to the light.
As with much of my photography practice, my only gripe is that I wished I’d started sooner! Then again, maybe I wouldn't have the same appreciation for it now if I had. Like a stash of unbleached negatives, the wonder in me has had longer to collect. Now it floats and bobs on colorful wings through the warm, fragrant air. 𓇢𓆸
These photos are so beautiful! I always wanted to shoot the peel apart film...
And the feeling of finding a camera with film in it? Priceless! I can exactly imagine how you felt!
This is so great! You’re making me want to start taking photos again 💕