Earlier this week, Google announced the Pixel 11 Pro Fold, the latest entry in its lineup of folding phones. While it includes some meaningful improvements over its predecessor, Google is still asking people to pay $1900 for a phone that makes a lot of compromises, at a time when its competitors have offerings that don’t ask you to give up much.

The issue is most evident when it comes to cameras. Despite its “Pro” branding, the Pixel 11 Pro Fold’s camera setup is more similar to that of the standard Pixel 11 – a phone that costs $1000 less – than the Pixel 11 Pro. It has the same Type 1/1.56 (48mm²) main sensor and the same Type 1/3.2 (15.5mm²) telephoto camera as the Pixel 11, and its ultrawide camera is actually fractionally smaller. So yes, even compared to the Pixel 11, the Fold’s cameras are technically worse, while the Pro’s array beats it in every way.

Compare this with Samsung’s latest Galaxy Z Fold 8 Ultra. Sure, it costs $200 more than Google’s foldable (though at these prices, that only amounts to an 11% premium), and its three cameras are the same as you’d find on the top-of-the-line Galaxy S26 Ultra. Now, the Z Fold 8 Ultra lacks the periscope camera you’d get on the candybar ultra, but for most shooting situations, its cameras are comparable to those on standard flagships like the iPhone 17 Pro or Google Pixel 11 Pro.

In fairness to Google, if you’re just comparing the cameras, the Pixel 11 Pro Fold comes out a bit ahead of Samsung’s price-competitive Galaxy Z Fold 8. That phone has a better ultrawide, but omits a telephoto option completely. However, it’s also a passport-style phone, adopting a form-factor that looks like it may be the future of foldables, if early reviews are any indication. When Samsung compromises on the cameras, you get something in return.

Still, you could potentially argue that Google is competing with Samsung on the camera front, as long as you ignore that the latter offers another model if you don’t prefer to compromise. But while cameras are obviously our primary concern here at DPReview, we recognize that most people’s phone purchasing decisions won’t hinge on the minutiae of sensor sizes (though if you’re spending almost $2000 on a phone, odds are you’re an enthusiast who wants the best whether you’ll use it to its fullest or not). Unfortunately for Google, the 11 Pro Fold is falling behind in other ways, too.

Samsung

The Pixel 11 Pro Fold has a few physical changes that are genuine improvements. It has slimmer bezels, is a touch thinner and lighter and is more durable. But when you open up that interior screen, you’ll still be greeted with a noticeable crease down the middle, something Samsung has all but eliminated in its latest foldables thanks to some clever engineering. The Korean giant is also starting to adopt silicon-carbon battery tech, letting it pack more energy density into the same space. I suspect these two factors will be big points in Samsung’s favor to the typical foldable buyer – the big screen you’re paying so dearly for will be nicer to look at and your phone will likely last longer on a charge – even if they don’t care about cameras.

As if Samsung’s foldables weren’t enough of a threat to Google’s foldable ambitions, there’s even more competition on the horizon. Apple is expected to release its first foray into the form factor soon, likely with a passport-style phone. While I’d bet that its cameras won’t be anything special (if the iPhone Air is anything to go by), Apple undoubtedly has a way of exciting consumers about technologies that its competitors have long since adopted*. Google has brought a mild refresh with compromised cameras to a hype cycle fight.

What’s more, it’s really only Americans who will be choosing between the Pixel, Galaxy and iPhone. Outside of the US, there are even more options from companies like Oppo or Huawei, and while neither company has made one that uses the massive image sensors found in their main phones, that feels more like a matter of when, not if.

None of this is to say that I think the Pixel 11 Pro Fold will be bad. This is Google’s fourth folding phone, and it’s pretty good at making them by now. I’m sure the pictures it takes will be fine for most people, and that it’ll be good enough that the Google faithful will be happy to have it as an option. But with prices for foldables being higher than ever, and such fierce competition that promises to only get more intense in the coming months, I just don’t buy that good enough is good enough.

* – I’ll own up to the fact that this works on me, too. In 2024, I wrote an opinion piece about the Pixel 9 Pro Fold entitled “I don’t want to pay $1799 for worse photos.” And yet, hypocrite that I am, there’s a very high chance that I’ll buy the foldable iPhone, which may very well have worse cameras than my current iPhone 15 Pro. At the very least, it’ll almost certainly have fewer of them. The only thing saving me from being a complete liar is the fact that there’s no way Apple will charge $1800 for its foldable. I’ll consider myself lucky if it’s under $2000.

“I just wish someone would make a proper 6×7 digital camera.” It’s the logical endpoint of every discussion in which someone loftily dictates that modern digital medium format is somehow not “real” because it doesn’t follow the conventions of film photography. And I have to say, I just don’t understand it.

Is it nostalgia for a camera regretfully parted with, or a yearning for something we never got to have? That waist-level viewfinder experience that looked so cool when David Hemmings stood in for every ’60s British (male) celebrity photographer in Blow Up. Or, instead, memories of that family member with a lovingly assembled collection of Bronica or Hasselblad 6×6 gear?

I have to assume that it’s something like this, because it doesn’t make sense in reality. Unless a radically different (and much cheaper) sensor technology suddenly arrives, no one is going to make a new 6×7 system. Or 6×6. Or even 645.

The reason is twofold. The first is that it would be utterly unfeasible, economically. The second is that it would be completely unnecessary.

The economics don’t work, not even nearly

Film scales much more readily than semiconductor size: the cost of doubling the size of a piece of film is within the realms of double or triple. A single-digit multiple, anyway. Doubling the size of a sensor more than doubles the production cost. Doubling it again starts to look exponential. You can’t just pick an arbitrary size that film cameras used to use and say, “I want it that big.”

Phase One

The only modern 645 camera is the Phase 1 IQ4 150MP digital back. It costs around $50,000. Sony has just announced a movie camera with a similarly-sized chip. Its price hasn’t been made public, but it’s primarily going to be rented for use in productions with budgets that start with nine digits.

And that’s before you consider the fact that there aren’t huge caches of medium-format lenses that would shine under the scrutiny of high megapixel sensors, much less any financial motivation for any surviving company to support them. So on top of the fabulous cost of the sensor, you’d also need to fund the development of a whole new camera and lens system, to be amortized between an infinitesimal audience.

But beyond the economic impracticality, there’s a question of what you’d gain.

How much better do you need?

Yes, larger sensors can generally tolerate more light, per whole image, and hence deliver higher signal-to-noise ratios, meaning cleaner images with improved tonal quality. And, in principle, it should be easier to design a lens that resolves the higher resolution that a larger sensor could bring. These are exactly the reasons that medium-format film cameras continued to be valued after the arrival of the smaller “35mm” film format.

Richard Butler

But it’s worth recognizing that modern digital sensors outperform film by almost every metric. There’s a difference in the handling of highlights, but modern sensors deliver more detailed images with better tonal quality, even if you only consider shooting in good light. And they do so to the point that they challenge the quality of film at least one format larger. You can rival 645 film performance with a modern full-frame digital camera, if you expose it well, and if there’s any question about that, you can always move up to a 44x33mm digital camera.

The quality you can get from a 44×33 medium-format sensor is sensational, which rapidly diminishes the applications that require anything more. Which just makes the overwhelming additional costs that come with it much harder to justify.

If you need the very best image quality available, you can spend that $50,000 and buy a Phase One IQ4. And a bit more on lenses.

But until you’ve bitten that particular bullet and found the results lacking, it’s hard to argue that any company should sensibly try to embark on digital 6×7 for you. Because, seriously, what is it you’re really hoping to achieve?

Last month, we saw the release of two new point-and-shoot film cameras, a Lomography half-frame camera and the Kodak EC35, both offering minimal features at wallet-friendly prices. Despite their simplicity, Kosmo Foto’s Stephen Dowling argues in a recent opinion piece that they’re a positive sign for the future of film photography.

Lomography’s Half-frame Simple Use Reloadable Film Camera (a mouthful of a name), came first. As it says on the tin, it produces half-frame images, doubling the photos you get from a single roll in a vertical format that plays well with social media. While it looks and functions like a disposable camera, it’s fully reusable. It comes preloaded with a roll, but once that’s exposed, you can rewind, remove it, and load any 35mm film you like. And even with that roll of film included, it only costs $30 with black and white and $35 with color.

Reto

The second camera, the EC35, comes from Kodak licensee Reto. Visually, it’s a bit of a step up, bringing back the sliding cover found on highly sought-after (and expensive) models like the Contax T3 and Olympus Mju-II. Functionally, it’s much the same as Lomography’s: fixed focus, fixed exposure, a plastic lens and a built-in flash. It’s available for $35, though it doesn’t come with a roll of film.

These aren’t the only affordable, basic compact film cameras we’ve seen in recent years, many of which look quite similar, even. That may leave some wondering why Lomography and Reto have thrown more hats into the ring. Dowling walks through what may have led each brand to these cameras, including their desire to reach young photographers drawn to retro aesthetics.

Lomography

Dowling also notes that while these cameras are clearly geared toward beginners and casual users, and don’t offer anything truly new, they’re still a good sign for film photography as a whole. After all, two well-established brands are confident enough in film demand to launch new cameras. I recently wrote about a similar trend on the film side, where slightly tweaked film stocks have been hitting the market with increasing frequency, which is another encouraging sign that manufacturers still see room for growth in film.

Dowling’s piece delves further into the nuances of these cameras and what may have led to their creation. If you’re interested in the state of film photography right now, especially how brands are thinking about new, younger shooters, it’s well worth a read over at Kosmo Foto.

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Compact cameras used to dominate the market. Every manufacturer made tens of new models each year, typically differentiated by pixel count, zoom range and screen size. Plus, usually, a single model with a tunnel viewfinder for the “no viewfinder, no sale” faction, which almost nobody bought.

They were a huge part of the camera market: twenty years ago, compact cameras made up 88% of Canon’s unit sales.

You might have noticed that this is no longer the case. Smartphones obliterated the mass-market compact camera, initially through convenience and then increasingly by combining multiple exposures to surpass small-sensor compacts in terms of image quality, too.

But there’s been an unexpected consequence of the death of the mainstream compact: the remaining models are the ones that aren’t compact.

Mitchell Clark

This has left us in an awkward position. We always used the term ‘compact’ to mean any camera on which you couldn’t change lenses because, with very few exceptions, they were the small ones. But, now that the mainstream compact has died, we’re instead left with the more ambitious models, the ones whose larger sensors and longer lenses continue to offer things that smartphones don’t. The Panasonic L10 isn’t especially compact, the Sony RX10 V won’t fit in most pockets, the Fujifilm X100 series is almost as large as the rangefinder cameras it mimics and then there’s the Fujifilm GFX100RF.

All of them ‘compacts’ by our standard. None of them particularly compact.

We can’t call them point-and-shoots, because the models that survived are precisely the ones that you do more than simply frame and click with. We can’t call them fixed-lens cameras, partly because it’s just not a phrase we’ve ever heard anybody use, and also because it can be misunderstood as meaning ‘camera with a fixed focal-length lens.’

So what do we do? Is it really worth trying to come up with a new term, to describe what it ultimately a handful of niche products? For now I think we just have to accept that progress has caught us out again, and that most attempts to arrange cameras (or the world) are imperfect, and prone to their original meaning being outpaced by history.

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In June, Flic Film, a Canadian manufacturer and distributor of analog photography goods, posted on social media that it had released “an all-new film stock.” While that’s certainly exciting on the surface, the announcement sparked a flurry of questions and speculation, with a bit of contention.

Flic Film isn’t alone in this situation either. There has been an increase in supposedly new film stocks in the last few years, but inevitably, the comments are full of discussion about what the film really is. There also seems to be frustration floating around about how all film stocks these days are the same, and that brands are essentially misleading us into thinking we have options. But all of that oversimplifies what’s really going on.

What’s going on with film these days?

Abby Ferguson

If you aren’t closely involved in the photographic film world, some context will help you understand why that post (and similar ones by other brands) ruffled some feathers. At the time of writing, there are only three to four facilities producing color film at a commercial scale. A handful of additional producers are making black and white films.

Despite the limited producers, there seems to be no shortage of film brands. Depending on your location, you can buy film branded by the likes of Lomography, Flic Film, Reto, CineStill, Candido, Japan Camera Hunter, Rollei, Leica and so many more. Even my local film lab has its “own” stock. This is where the confusion stems from. Each of these brands isn’t making their own film from scratch, given the resources and equipment required, so what’s going on?

There are a few things at play here. Some companies are simply repackaging (sometimes referred to as respooling) film. They buy it in bulk from a manufacturer, load it into canisters and boxes with their own label, make no changes to the film itself and sell it as their own.

At times, brands are upfront about this. For example, Flic Film sells Elektra 100, which its website has clearly labeled as re-spooled Kodak Aerocolor IV color negative film. Flic Film named the film something else, but it is upfront about what the film actually is. That’s not always the case, though, and there are certainly instances of repackaged film that don’t have the actual stock disclosed.

It goes beyond repackaging

Abby Ferguson

Another fairly common occurrence is a brand having an existing film stock modified for its use. CineStill is a good example of this, as it takes Kodak’s motion picture stocks and removes the remjet layer for its 800T and 50D films. Other brands also take motion picture stock and modify it in similar ways, so that it’s more easily processed by the general consumer and the labs they take film to.

Modification isn’t only happening on motion picture film, either. Still picture film is also modified in multiple ways in order to create a different look from the base stock. Manufacturers can do things like pre-flashing, which exposes film to a small amount of light to reduce contrast and compress the tonal range, or they can change the backing to alter how light interacts with the emulsion. They can also treat the film in various ways to push the effective ISO higher, add sensitizing dyes to shift spectral sensitivity or add additional coatings.

All that to say that there are quite a few options for altering a film stock that will result in a fairly substantial change in look. Some of these changes happen at the source by the original manufacturer, others are made by the brand in its own facilities. The changes can completely alter the colors you get from a film, its sensitivity to light, its contrast and its grain character, giving it a distinctive look.

Why don’t brands just say what it is?

With that context in mind, let’s look back at what happened with Flic Film’s latest release. When Flic Film posted about its new product, it said explicitly that it is “an all-new film stock.” Given that it seemed highly unlikely that Flic Film managed to establish its own film production facility, or even that they developed something new from the ground up that’s produced at an existing facility, people were upset about the claim that it’s “all-new.”

Flic Film subsequently released a video addressing the questions and complaints. In the video, a representative for Flic Film says, “The only answer I can honestly give is I don’t know.” He goes on to explain that they of course know the manufacturer, but when they receive the film, they get it as a number, not with the original name noted, so they truly don’t know what the stock was originally.

He also explains that when they put out a new film, they buy a master roll from a manufacturer, but that things don’t stop there. “The manufacturers don’t just grab something off the shelf and sell it to us. They actually do little tweaks to that film to make it individual to us,” he says. “They’re not going to sell us their best-selling film straight up and have us just replicate it, that makes no sense and it’s no good for the customers.”

But even when modifications are subtle, or a film is simply respooled, not sharing the name of the original film isn’t inherently nefarious. As Flic Film’s video explained, it’s very possible the brand doesn’t even know what the original stock is.

Abby Ferguson

Non-disclosure agreements (NDA) are another common practice in this industry. When working with a manufacturer, a film company may have to sign an NDA that prevents them from sharing the manufacturer’s name, the original stock name or both. In the case of CineStill, while it’s a poorly kept secret that it uses certain Kodak motion picture film, it’s never listed outright in CineStill’s marketing. In fact, its FAQ page says, “out of respect for our unique relationships with our suppliers, we are careful not to openly claim and benefit from the goodwill and reputation of the brands and trademarks of the original products.”

CineStill is considered one of the more transparent brands, but just because other companies aren’t sharing as much doesn’t necessarily mean that they are intentionally being deceitful. They could have more strict agreements in place with producers, or other factors could be at play. It certainly would be nice to have greater transparency, and I firmly believe brands should disclose information when they are able to. But it isn’t always a sign of a company trying to scam us out of our money if they aren’t upfront.

Modified film is still legitimate

Abby Ferguson

Transparency is one thing, but the other frustration I see coming out of recent film launches is rhetoric that all film stocks are the same these days and choice is an illusion sold to us by all of these companies. In the case of simply respooled film, yes, that is absolutely true. But, producers and brands can create quite distinct looks by modifying stocks. If a film looks different than what it came from, it seems reasonable to call it a new film.

Something similar happens in the digital camera world, too. Camera manufacturers source sensors, EVFs, displays and more from a handful of suppliers, yet it’s silly to argue that all cameras are the same as a result. Each camera manufacturer has to make additional decisions in terms of processing, colors, ergonomics and UI. What matters is what a company does with those common components.

We are quite far from the 1990s heyday when you could walk into a store and see a colorful wall of different film stocks. But a recent resurgence has led to more film brands working with producers in new ways, giving photographers more options than they had just five years ago. More options mean more people finding a film they love, and more people shooting film is only a good thing for the medium, which is always worth celebrating in my book.

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I’m not completely shocked that Sony updated the RX10: the existing model was clearly out of production and increasingly silly second-hand prices suggested there was pent-up demand. And now the work of integrating more modern components with a Type 1 sensor has been done, surely an updated RX100 will be next?

I found myself thinking about what that might look like, and the more I do, the more I suspect it won’t be what I want.

Two years ago I made the argument that there is a market for enthusiast compacts: small cameras with decent image quality and sufficient direct control to give a satisfying photographic experience. I proposed an RX100-style camera with a less-expensive sensor and the original 24-70mm equiv F1.8-2.8 lens. Sadly, that’s not what I’m expecting Sony to make, at all.

Sony is a technology company. A technology company that makes some very good cameras, but ultimately a company that believes that their cameras will always be made better by throwing more and newer technology into them.

So instead of the stripped-back camera with direct controls and a (relatively) accessible price tag that I’d love someone to make, I suspect we’ll get a camera with, at the very least, all the bells and whistles of the RX10 V. I’m going to guess it’ll have the rangier but slower 24-200mm equiv lens, the ability to shoot at framerates around double the speed of a pro-targeted DSLR and a list price of at least the $1500 that the VII’s launch price would equate to, today.

And thinking about this made me remember how frustrated I’ve always been with the RX100 cameras. Because, with their introduction of the Type 1 (13.2 x 8.8) sensor to the compact market, they represented a huge step forward in terms of how much image quality you could fit in your pocket. The JPEG color on the first one was perhaps a little wonky but that 116mm² sensor was nearly three times the size of the Type 1/1.7 (43mm²) chip that had dominated the space up until then, and that’s the kind of difference you could see in every photo.

Richard Butler

But despite the appearance, price and that short, bright lens, the RX100 never felt like an enthusiast compact. Compared to the likes of the Olympus XZ models or Canon’s G and S-series cameras, the Sony sorely lacked engaging control points. Typically I’ll use an enthusiast compact in Aperture Priority mode, so would want to be able to control the aperture value and exposure compensation: both of them settings that adjust in fixed, stepped intervals. The RX100 doesn’t have a well-placed clicking control point, meaning you have to change most settings via the vague, free-rotating ring around the lens. There’s a lag before it recognizes that your input is intentional and there’s no tactile feedback that you’ve changed anything.

The result, even before you visited the old, rather chaotic menus, was a user experience that left you feeling detached from the photo taking process: the precise opposite of what I believe a standalone camera needs to offer. The RX100 series have always been products whose engineering I admired, rather than cameras I enjoyed.

I remember being advised “stop trying to make it do what you want, and just use it as a point-and-shoot,” and finding that helped. But if I wanted to just take snaps, I’d probably use a smartphone, because the phone makers know their devices aren’t about taking control, so they’re happy to shoot and combine multiple images with every shot, letting them rival or exceed the image quality of a Type 1 camera taking single photos.

I could be wrong, of course. Sony might significantly rework the RX100 to make it fun to take control of. Or it might not make one at all. And, even if it does, I’m not going to assume that the things I, personally, want are the things that the market as a whole wants: Sony will have a much better idea of what sells and what doesn’t, and of what would-be customers are asking for.

But, while the whole thing remains hypothetical, you can’t blame me for hoping.

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I’ve always liked enthusiast compacts: relatively small cameras with built-in lenses and a decent level of direct control. A camera I can travel with but still enjoy using. But, following a halcyon period in the early 2010s, the available options dwindled to the point that it became almost impossible to buy one.

However, things seem to have moved on since CP+ 2025, when we received relatively little enthusiasm from the manufacturers we asked about the prospects of a compact camera revival. The first flicker had already come the year before, from a slightly unexpected quarter, when Leica announced the D-Lux 8, a refreshed version of the enthusiast model last updated 6 years prior.

Richard Butler

Then, perhaps even more unexpectedly, in mid 2025 Sony updated its full-frame, prime lens compact, the RX1, a decade after the previous version had been released. It was not a camera I expected to ever see, as I thought its job as a signifier that Sony ‘gets’ photography had been served, now that its full-frame Alpha cameras have received such widespread uptake. But, while some reviewers insisted it should have been more ambitious, I found the camera that actually existed to be one that addressed almost all the shortcomings of its predecessor, and added up to an excellent (albeit determinedly niche) photographers’ compact.

Signs of life

By 2026, the tone of many manufacturers has changed when asked about the market for compacts, and these past few months have seen the release of two major updates of well-liked, but seemingly abandoned models.

The Panasonic L10 is a substantial reworking of the LX100 series, eight years after the last model. It brought a larger body and the same, rather laggy zoom, but, like the RX1R III, it directly addressed the biggest criticisms we’d had with the previous versions. So again, while it’s easy for armchair R&Ders to demand more, the thing that you can buy is rather good.

And now we have the Sony RX10 V, which brings the latest autofocus and video performance levels along with a bigger battery, better viewfinder to a (comparatively) large-sensor superzoom, bringing into sharp relief the degree to which camera performance has continued to improve in the 9+ years since the last version. Even if image quality appears to have plateaued (or even peaked?) for now.

Richard Butler

All four models have been met by derision from some quarters, not helped by the cumulative effect of inflation driving the prices up, in money terms at least. Others have criticized the degree to which these new cameras depend on existing parts for some of their key components (in all four cases, the lens designs date back around a decade, to the often less-demanding pixel counts of that time). And it’s true that none of these makers have shown the faith in the enthusiast photo sector that Canon and Sony did in the vlogging market, when they spent the money to develop new optics for the likes of the PowerShot V1 and ZV-1 II. But most of them got redesigned bodies and accommodate different batteries to their predecessors, so there’s more than just parts-bin diving going on.

Another criticism we’ve seen is that you can buy an ILC more cheaply. And this is sometimes true, even if you exclude second-hand and end-of-life bargains that no new camera can ever compete with. But, even in the (very) few instances where you can closely match the spec of these enthusiast compacts, while maintaining a similar level of hands-on, direct control and competing on size, it usually turns out that the person making the criticism simply doesn’t like the concept of fixed lens cameras, which can lead to the whole point of such cameras being dramatically missed.

Richard Butler

There are times when you want the near-endless flexibility of an ILC (or ‘system camera’ if you prefer). But sometimes, some of us want a smaller camera, or a self-contained one. One that does the thing it’s designed to do, without constantly inviting the cost of additional lenses or forcing you to ponder which combination to pack.

I’m not, at this point anyway, suggesting we’re entering another golden age of enthusiast compacts. It’s clear that the cameras we’ve seen so far are updates of existing models (and not necessarily upgrades, to the extent you might hope). Sadly, I don’t think anybody is about to put the effort into delivering a larger-sensor successor to the Olympus XZ-2, which to me remains the high watermark for enthusiast compacts, in many regards. But at least, for whatever concerns we might each have about pricing or increased size, there are, after all this time, options.

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