I’ve had a soft spot for Olympus’ retro PEN cameras ever since the E-P1 was released two years ago. The design harks back to the days when old-fashioned rangefinders were all the rage and photography was a game of patience, not instant gratification.

(It might also have something to do with the fact that I’m the proud owner of an Olympus 35SP 35mm camera – a legend in its own time, and a wonderful portrait camera.)

Nevertheless, the original E-P1 did have its flaws. Quality was great but not quite a match for a DSLR, and performance, particularly with the contrast detect autofocus system, was sluggish. Olympus is aiming to address those issues with the PEN E-P3, which I had the chance to tinker with yesterday.

Olympus is set to unleash three new PEN models: the top-end E-P3, with which I took all of the photographs on this page (except for the stock shots of the cameras themselves); the mid-range PEN Lite E-PL3; and the PEN Mini, aimed at novices who want a simple camera that offers better quality than a compact.

I only had eyes for the 12.3-megapixel E-P3. Top of the PEN range and the first to hit UK shops in August, it’s set to cost an eye-watering £799. It includes a 14-42mm kit lens, and features a number of key improvements over its predecessor.

The sensor is still a micro four-thirds, which is smaller than the one you’ll find in Sony’s superb NEX-3 and NEX-5 cameras, but the hardware is new. The image processing engine is improved too, with sensitivity levels of up to 12,800 ISO.

Olympus also claims to have boosted autofocus speed, dubbing the new system (rather unimaginatively) Fast AF. It certainly felt snappier than the original, although general performance didn’t feel up to the levels of a DSLR.

There are plenty of other improvements on the cards too: a built-in pop-up flash; a cracking 3in, 460-kpixel OLED capacitive touchscreen with touch focus and shutter release functions; 1080/60i video recording with live autofocus; plus a range of hugely impressive in-camera “art” filters, which can be applied to video and combined to create compound effects (as you can see from the shots on this page).

The other two new PENs feature the same core sensor and image-processing engine, but differ slightly in size and features. The PEN Lite boasts a tiltable LCD, but has no touchscreen and a reduced number of on-body controls. The PEN Mini, meanwhile, is targeted at the point-and-shoot brigade: it’s compact but has no tilt or touchscreen, and on-body controls are minimal with most settings accessed via the 3in screen.

Olympus is adding a pair of new prime lenses to its micro four-thirds armoury: a 12mm (24mm equivalent) f/2.0 and a 45mm (90mm equivalent) f/1.8 portrait lens.

The big question is whether the E-P3 or any of its siblings can dethrone the current king of the SLD (single lens direct view) segment: Sony’s NEX range. We’ll deliver our verdict when we’ve got our hands on a review sample, but for now the new PENs are looking good.

There’s an excellent Labs round-up of Superzoom cameras (also commonly called “bridge cameras”) in the latest issue of PC Pro. My only criticism is that it doesn’t makes a strong enough case for its subject.

Most people tend to think that there are only two types of digital camera to choose from: point-and-click compact cameras majoring in convenience, and high-end DSLRs majoring in picture quality. Anything in between is – almost by definition – seen as an uncomfortable compromise. However I think that the vast majority of users would actually be far better off with this intermediate format.

From my own experience I think that the bridge cameras offer two overwhelming advantages.

The first is the zoom. I just don’t understand why this is generally seen as an optional extra – and an incredibly expensive and awkward one for DSLRs where you have to buy and carry separate lenses. Taking a good photo is as much about content and composition as it is about light gathering, and a good optical zoom opens up so many more creative options. Go to the zoo or park with a superzoom – anything from around 20x to the Nikon Coolpix P500’s amazing 36x – and you really can bring back genuinely interesting and exciting photos; go without and your photos will almost certainly be as dull as everyone else’s.

The second is video. I have to admit that this was very low down on my list of priorities when I bought my Panasonic Lumix a few years back (a long way below full manual control and RAW support). However I was amazed by the quality of the 720p HD video, which was actually far better than that from my admittedly ancient, dedicated device. Now the latest Lumix DMC-FZ100 is offering 1080i.

Having impressive video handling conveniently to hand dramatically increases your creative options. There are just so many occasions where a static image doesn’t do the subject justice and other scenarios where video is the only way to be sure of getting the still. Now I would find it as unthinkable to buy a camera that doesn’t also shoot HD video (complete with a dedicated video record button) as I would to buy one with an ordinary zoom.

Ultimately bridge cameras don’t just offer a bridge between two camps, they offer a bridge between three. Moreover, the result isn’t an awkward compromise that is neither-one-thing-nor-another, but a creative mix that is greater than the sum of its parts (including zooming video).

Of course dedicated DSLRs and video cameras will still be required for professionals and the keenest enthusiasts, but compact cameras and Flip-style video devices are disappearing into the smartphone where they belong. That leaves the bridge camera holding the high centre ground – precisely the ground that most users are looking to occupy.

Is it time for a new A-List category?

What follows here is the incredible tale of the buffeting his beloved Canon EOS 350D has taken on his journey and the brilliant support he received from Canon’s worldwide support team, lifted wholesale from his superb travel blog, Sorry For The Group Email:

Here is what may be a little-known fact about cameras.

Apart from Ferraris from forecourts, champagne into ocean liners, and Edwardian furniture off buildings, very few commodities lose their value faster. A second little-known fact about DSLRs is that, despite their promisingly-mechanical nature, economically repairing them is next to impossible. Indeed, ruin a DSLR comprehensively enough (easily done), and repairing it and buying a new one take on similar fiscal proportions.

So it was that I was morose in Kuala Lumpur. My beloved 350D was dead. Even worse, it wasn’t even my fault. If I had, say, killed it trying to get a Pulitzer-winning shot of a tiger in a jungle, it would have been fine. I could have lived with it. (Just.) As it was, a murderous freak wave took it between Thailand and Malaysia. It worked now and again for about four days, but with each frame the power switch became more and more temperamental. By the time we reached Kuala Lumpur it was finished, possibly helped on its way by the repeated stress of moving between the extreme heat and humidity of outdoors, and the chilled dryness of air-conditioned shopping malls.

In desperation, we visited Canon’s EOS Pro Center in the Berjaya Times Square Mall.

There, something remarkable happened. The Canon Pro Center is a Canon franchise dedicated to selling the company’s higher-end kit. The shelves were collapsing under a few hundred thousand pounds’ worth of professional lenses, DSLR bodies and lighting equipment. You had to ring a doorbell just to get them to unlock the plate glass door. I wanted one of everything they sold, but, they apologised, they didn’t do repairs.

But, even though I wasn’t about to buy anything, or indeed, spend any money at all, the chap behind the counter went out of his way. He fiddled about for a bit and confirmed that the camera did indeed appear fine, bar the power switch. Then, he called Canon’s service centre. By the time I left I had an appointment for the next morning, a signed note from the Pro Centre explaining that I was leaving the country in two days and needed a fix as soon as possible, and even the name of an engineer to ask for.

We arrived in the morning of the next day after a 45-minute taxi journey. The Canon service centre in Kuala Lumpur is a kind of hospital for sick kit. In the hour and a half we were there we saw people wander in cradling fax machines, scanners, printers, and one chap who brought in a rucksack full of what had to be about £10,000 worth of professional photography gear. We were seen immediately by a sympathetic-looking engineer who toted my camera behind the scenes. After a few minutes he emerged: it was the power switch. We bade him fix it and he vanished again.

Half an hour later he was back. The power switch in a 350D (you’ll doubtless be fascinated to learn) sits on an electronic assembly that also comprises the shutter switch, mode dial and auto-exposure lock and focus zone buttons. He replaced the entire thing, and brought the original, knackered one out with him.

It was certainly dead. The gold contact where the power switch did its business was a lumpy, corroded mess, further mangled by my repeated attempts to get the switch to work again.

But he had fixed it. Not only that, but, sweetly, he had cleaned the body, managing to remove a few scratches on the built-in flash that I had long presumed permanent. Even better: in a world in which consumer DSLRs are commodities, the entire fix – from broken lump of plastic and optics to fully-working tool – cost about £40.

Not cheap by Asian standards, but less than a new camera. Even if I was eyeing up 40Ds only half-reluctantly.

I should point out that at some point in the misadventure the dioptre got broken, but that is splitting hairs.

What’s the damage?

Travelling – the kind with a capital ‘T’ – is unkind to cameras, yet even a low-end consumer model fares extraordinarily well. The following are a few of the things my 350D survived.

Manual “This camera is a precision instrument. Do not drop it or subject it to physical shock.”
Reality Dropped with significant bangs in Mongolia, China, and France. Bashed against countless walls, trapped in doors, and carried on to dozens of aircraft. It’s also a veteran of more than a few press conferences, in which shiny pieces of kit are routinely surrounded by fat, jostling hacks.

Manual
“This camera is not waterproof and cannot be used underwater.”
Reality
Thoroughly soaked in Thailand/Malaysia.
Snowed on in Russia.
Snowed on in Mongolia.
Rained on (torrentially) in Laos.

Manual
“If the camera is suddenly brought in from the cold into a warm room, condensation may form on the camera and internal parts.”
Reality
Every time we entered a building in Russia, Mongolia and Beijing.

Manual
“Working temperature range: 0°C – 40°C/32°F – 104°F.”
Reality
-20°C in Russia. -32°C in Mongolia. -5°C in China.
45°C in Vietnam.

This is all to say nothing of dozens (possibly hundreds) of cack-handed lens changes in idiotic locations (on boats, beaches, etc) and generally unsympathetic treatment. My camera has proved astonishingly robust, and the freak wave incident was the first time that my fears that it was badly hurt were actually realised. Even then, it limped on for a few days, producing no fewer than 340 exposures, before it gave up the ghost entirely. So, we say, “bravo” to Canon.