A BRIEF INTRODUCTION
"There's nothing like a Leica"
Have you ever seen this slogan? Leitz has used it now and then, and, for better or worse, it’s true.
Since the beginning, the German company has been developing and building the most precise cameras the world has ever seen. You may compare them to any other camera, and, whether you like rangefinders or not, we have to admit they are the best. The feeling of the film advance, the bright focus patch, the build and optical quality—everything just screams excellence.
If you’ve reached this page, you know exactly what happened. Leitz’s employee, Oscar Barnack, had the ideia to use 35mm film in photographic cameras and later developed what became the first Leica camera (Leitz + Camera = Leica), launched in 1925. The Leica ended up being perfect for casual snapshots. Whether they knew it in advance or not, they had changed history forever.
Before that moment, at least for the masses, cameras were meant to be used by people who really knew what they were doing, often to capture specific moments where the subject was aware they were being photographed. The release of the first Leica, by itself, shaped the way humanity approached photography. From that point on, and in every year since, more and more people have been able to carry a tiny, fast, and highly efficient camera in their pockets, capturing day-to-day life and the world around them—basically what we still do today with our iPhones. Certainly, it was no small achievement.
To be honest, Ernst Leitz GmbH as a company, has been producing high-quality tools since the 19th century, whether it’s microscopes, lenses, cameras, binoculars, or whatever else they produce today. But despite their great achievements and amazing history, you and I both know that when you think of Leica—or rather, when you think camera—you don’t think of the first Leica (or a Yashica, for God’s sake). You think of the M3, of course (Please don’t tell me you think M6).
The peak of German craftsmanship. It had it all. A single window combining rangefinder and viewfinder, parallax correction, double-stroke advance lever, three automatic frame lines, bayonet mount, and an automatic frame counter. What else could a photographer ask for? That’s honestly all you need, even today. The M3 was perfect in 1954, it’s the perfect camera today, and it will continue to be the perfect camera as long as I have the right to freedom of speech.
Of course it’s fun to play with a IIIg or even an SLR (as long as it’s not a Leica R). But whether or not you’re a fan of Leica cameras, we must agree that the M3 is a hell of a camera. History is here to prove it. We’re far into the digital age—the last entry of the series, the M11, already has 60 megapixels (who cares?)—but you don’t need to be a camera expert to realize: it’s a digital M3. I know, I know, it has amazing and “vital” features like Wi-Fi and USB-C, but come on. Despite those, the essence is the same: shutter speed, lens aperture, and your good old rangefinder. Even the lenses remain the same, with no adaptation needed whatsoever.
What I mean is that the design of the M series, conceived back in the ’50s, is still exactly the same. There have been a few changes here and there—some new features, some size differences—but as I said, the essence remains the same, even 70 years after its original launch. Well… not so fast.
You see, above all, Leitz is a company in a capitalist world and, therefore, they need to make money. Just like Apple nowadays releases iPhone 14, 15, 16, and so on to keep generating revenue, camera manufacturers did (and still do) the exact same thing. The market, along with free competition, pushes companies to develop their products every year, even if the improvement is only 1%. Of course, I like to believe that these advancements also come from the pursuit of perfection and the love of the craft. But the reality is that, in the end, companies have to do it; otherwise, they will most certainly go broke when facing their rivals.
As we’ve agreed, the M3 is a perfect camera, and it was the most sought-after camera for a long time after its release. But it didn’t take long for other great—and significantly cheaper—cameras to become available with similar features. I still stand by the whole “There’s nothing like a Leica” thing, but for the photographers of the time, cheaper cameras with similar—or even better—features were worth considering. Back in the day, most people wanted Leicas because of their quality, not because of status.
Leitz held on as long as they could, but in the constantly advancing world of photography, they were eventually forced to yield. People needed something new. And in 1966—12 years after the release of the original M3—the Leica M4 was introduced (I’m not considering the M2, since we all know it wasn’t an improvement over the M3; quite the contrary, as it was meant to be a cheaper, more basic addition to the M series, hence it being called M “2.”). The M4 was also a huge success. It preserved everything that made the M3 perfect but added great new features photographers had been requesting for over a decade: an angled crank that made rewinding much faster, 35mm framelines along with a 0.72x magnification viewfinder, and, last but not least, a much faster loading system that no longer required the outdated removable spool. Apart from these changes and some minor tweaks to the body design, the camera remained the same.
Although it might not seem like much to us, the film users of the 21st century, the announcement was monumental back then. Photographers needed to be fast, and the M4 delivered exactly what they needed to work more efficiently.
But the world keeps spinning, things keep changing, and by the time the M4 was released, Japanese SLRs were already starting to take over the world. Germans are great camera makers, but the Japanese were evolving the craft day by day. They weren’t kidding around—the Nikon F series, along with hundreds of other great cameras from that time, reinforces this. They’re still the ones who dominate the market in the contemporary era, so they certainly did something right. Back in the ’60s, Leitz was facing a dangerous enemy, and a battle was looming.
In the years that followed, especially in the early ’70s, things started going south for Ernst Leitz. The Japanese had mastered the SLR craft, and this new camera system was extremely appealing to both young and old photographers. They were cheaper, had a vast selection of great lenses, were incredibly sturdy, and, the cherry on top: you could see through the viewfinder exactly what you would get. Today, we acknowledge the beauty of the classic rangefinder camera’s viewfinder, but back then, the ability to see through the lens was mesmerizing—vicious even. People rushed toward this great new technology, and little by little, Leitz was losing its share of the market.
Leitz even tried their own entry in the SLR world with the original Leicaflex—the camera that originated the "R" series. But the Japanese were far ahead in the game and had already gained the trust of both photographers and amateurs by delivering fair priced, high quality photographic equipment.
But there was still hope. Like today, Leitz had its faithful followers back then. People loved Leica, and it was still synonymous with quality, whether for its camera bodies or its lenses. The lenses were critical in that situation. If a photographer already owned Leica glass, he would have have to think twice before switching to a brand-new SLR system. There was still hope for our beloved red dot.
Amid the rangefinder and SLR clash, a great team of Leitz’s best engineers and designers was summoned. They gathered in a war room in Wetzlar, where they debated and argued for hours over how they could improve the most flawless rangefinder ever created, as if they were debating politics like Greeks in the Agora of Athens (at least, that’s how I like to imagine it happened).
As we’ve already agreed, Leitz’s M series is the perfect embodiment of the saying, “Don’t mess with perfection”. History is here to prove it. But what if I told you that they ended up concluding that there actually was room for improvement? That those legendary german engineers had more great ideas? And what if I told you that they actually did it? That those guys actually pulled it off? Well, they did. They messed with perfection. And, if you ask me, they improved what was already perfect.
In 1971, as the result of a deep dive into the Leica’s design, the M5 was born. The last Leitz camera to be entirely made in Wetzlar using the traditional “adjust and fit” method, it was released alongside an amazing marketing campaign, such as this one:
The main new feature Leitz determined was necessary to make the M5 appeal to the wider public was a light meter—something no other Leica had ever had. This was an incredibly complex challenge to tackle in the 1970s, but they nailed it. An extremely precise TTL (through-the-lens) meter was developed, that was activated when the film was advanced, powered by a 1.35V battery instead of the more commonly used selenium cell.
This new feature came at a cost though: the body becacme slightly larger and heavier to accommodate the meter's components. However, it ended up being almost identical in size and weight to an M4 paired with a Leica Meter. If that wasn’t impressive enough, they also decided to display all the crucial data in the viewfinder—including both the meter’s readings and the shutter speed. The latter wouldn’t appear again in an M series camera until the M7, decades later.
Meter-wise, I’d like to highlight a feature the M5 has that no other Leica M ever had. While the more recent meters (like the one on the M6) simply show whether you’re underexposed, overexposed, or perfectly exposed via two arrows and a dot, the M5’s meter—thanks to its CdS cell—displayed two lines: one representing the shutter speed and the other the aperture. These lines had to overlap to achieve perfect exposure:
At first glance, this might not seem like a big deal, but the meter's interface allowed photographers to see exactly how far off they were from proper exposure. This made handling faster, especially when shooting in varied lighting conditions. It was—and still is—an excellent meter.
However, this innovative feature came with a small drawback. Since the new meter was positioned directly behind the lens, the camera wasn’t readily compatible with some of the older M-mount lenses (the most notorious being the collapsible lenses, which could not be collapsed without damaging the light meter cell). To address this, a note was included with the box:
The M5 ended up departing from the original M3 design, adopting a more squared-off body. Yes, it was bulkier, but nearly everyone I’ve spoken to who has tried it agrees—it’s the most comfortable M to hold. It fits perfectly in your hands, especially if you have larger ones. Call me crazy, but check this out:
Don’t you think the body lines look similar? Come on, I’m not saying Sony was inspired by the M5 on the A7 series—though maybe they were—but what if they, too, realized that this shape is truly ergonomic? See? The M5 was ahead of its time.
Another interesting tidbit is that, due to its proportions, the M5 is often said to have the quietest shutter of all the Ms. Having personally tried every single M model, I’ll admit the M7’s shutter is slightly quieter, but not enough to make a noticeable difference. Most people also don't know that it's also the only M—besides the M7 on aperture priority mode—that allows linear intermediate speeds between full click stops from the 1/1000 through to the 1/2 second setting.
The rewind crank was moved to the bottom plate, allowing the fastest-ever rewinding of the film. The new loading spool design was weird—but very practical—a mix between the M4's fast-loading system and the M3/M2's removable spool.
Ah, and it was also the first Leica to feature the black chrome finish that would become standard from that point on. Whether you like that or not, I saved one of it's best features for last.
Till this point, you could say you still prefer the smaller size of the other M's or that you don't need a light meter. But there was something else. Something else those german engineers figured out. It was so simple, yet so significant, that it alone makes me choose it over any other rangefinder all day. At some point in its original development, in that same war room in Wetzlar, someone thought: what if we could change shutter speeds without having to take the camera down? Trust me, it was an amazing idea.
The previous model's shutter dial was so tiny that you always had to look at it to change speeds. In the M5, though, the dial was made with a small protuberance that extended beyond the body, allowing the user to change speeds with their index finger. This gigantic yet tiny design change was an undeniable improvement over every other Leica, being extremely useful to the real user. Paired with the shutter speed and light meter displays in the finder, it made the M5 the fastest M to operate by far once you get used to it (not considering M7's aperture priority, of course).
They tried to do something similar in the M6 TTL and the M7 with a slightly softer and bigger dial, but it doesn't come close to the M5's design. The ones that came the closest in terms of funcionality were the Leica R8 and R9, that implemented a similar concept.
It indeed changed. A lot. Some say it's Leitz's ugly duck; others say its one of the most beautiful camera designs ever. I don’t exactly know why, but I’ve met quite a few people who were surprised by its looks when they had a chance to see one in real life. I always hear the same thing: it looks way better in person.
But despite all these new milestones it achieved, in my opinion, it had only two major flaws: it was too expensive in a world where great cameras were becoming cheaper, AND, as you all know, it had two lugs in its first version.
I guess Leitz thought being expensive wasn’t that big of a problem—it was meant for professionals, while SLRs were made for everyone else. Those said professionals wouldn’t think that much about the price; they already had the lenses, and the changes were too fantastic for them to simply reject. As for the new strap position, I’d say it was a huge mistake from the start. It might’ve seemed like a good way to promote the camera back then—it was definitely a bold move—but it simply didn’t work out. Professionals carried their cameras every day and were too used to the universal way, so this was just not practical at all. If Leitz ended up releasing a 3-lug version that allowed regular carrying, why didn’t they do it from the beginning?!
The point is that most people that were still into Leicas didn't change systems because they loved their M3s, M2s, and M4s, and didn’t want it to change that much. And that, my friends, brings us to what really made it fail. The users did it. As simple as that. Leica fans are almost like Star Wars fans—changes are not easily welcomed. Remember when the M11 was released with its non-removable bottom plate? A day later, a group was created somewhere titled "Leica with Bottom-Plates Only." I wish I was joking.
The M5 did extremely poorly in sales, due to all the reasons mentioned above, along with the high production cost—especially when manufacturing it entirely in Germany. It was an extremely advanced camera, and its assembly was complex and costly. It’s known as the camera that almost bankrupted Leitz, but that is not true. It was not the camera itself that did it. The M5 wasn’t a hit not because it was bad—it wasn’t a hit because it was too good. The world didn’t need that many advancements in the new era. SLRs were everywhere, and the Leica CL—released alongside the M5—was a much cheaper alternative for the rangefinder aficionados of that period. It wasn’t the right time.
The M5 was, and still is, great. It is what Ernst Leitz was all about all along: innovation, improving perfection. It was surely ahead of its time. People are not going back to it by chance—the internet ended up rediscovering this overlooked gem, and only in the past few years has it been getting the attention it always deserved.
When they realized that the users who were left were people who simply loved their "regular" Leicas, Ernst Leitz GmbH went straight back to the classic design, restarting M4 production almost instantly, fearful of losing any more clients. The M4 was available alongside the M5 in Leitz’s catalog until 1975, when, after only 33,900 units, M5 production ceased. Shortly after, the M4-2 was released, dropping all the advancements the M5 achieved for good and Leitz moved part of the production to their Canada factory to save costs. After that came the M4-P—again, the exact same thing as the M4 despite a few minor tweaks.
It wasn’t until 1986 that Leitz acquired enough expertise in the new world of electronic chips to implement a new electronic light meter in their "classic" M4 design, originating the world-famous red-dotted Leica M6. The addition of a few M5 advancements to the classic M4 design, along with a new approach to marketing, made the M6 a huge success, especially among high society. Leitz realized they had an amazing opportunity to sell their cameras not just to photographers but to enthusiasts and people who wanted to own a legendary tool (pretty much like Rolex does nowadays). LEICA became a brand above all.
Now that SLR's were around for more than 20 years, people started to miss and remeber the beauty and the advantages of the good old rangefinder. Leica's were now classic. The rest is history.
Now, even after I’ve told you all of this, my dear reader, would you still believe that the undeniable improvement of perfection was forgotten and rejected? Guess that’s just how history works for some.
To sum it up, I’ll tell you a hard truth to swallow: the Leica M5 was the natural evolution of the M System.
Sometimes I wonder where the Leica M Series would be today if the advancements brought by the M5 had been well received. What would the M11 look like? It certainly wouldn’t look like an M3 with a 60MP sensor and USB-C.
You can say whatever you want about the M5, but before criticizing it, go out and shoot a roll with it. I’m certain you’ll wonder why it "failed", and, in the end, you’ll realize the truth: it didn’t.