A Smurf-blue Porsche Macan S parked under a Malaysian streetlight, paint reflecting neon signs and passing traffic like a rolling mirror

ANALOGUE: Don't Shoot Film Part 2

MONDAY FEBRUARY 10, 2026

Night photography is already a pain. Make it film and medium format for even more pain. Now add Malaysia. Humid, sticky, and warm enough at night that you start sweating just by thinking about setting up a tripod. Everything feels slightly damp, including your patience. You can literally feel the air sitting on your skin like a wet towel. Good luck with “careful focusing” and “calm decision-making.”

The subject was a 2020 blue Porsche Macan S in Smurf blue. Back to photography, you have to park the car to fit the scene, not the other way around. That means you’re inching forward, reversing, turning the wheel a little, getting out, checking the angle, getting back in and moving again.

The Macan S parked precisely to match the scene, captured mid-adjustment with the front wheels turned slightly for a cleaner stance.

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Night car photography on real streets is not a controlled set. It’s traffic, bikes, people who don’t care about your frame and cars that appear out of nowhere like they were spawned to test your survival instincts. You’re watching reflections, you’re watching composition and you’re also watching for headlights that feel personally aimed at your retinas. You’re trying to make a photo and not become one. And you’re doing all this while trying not to get run over.

Exposure is the first argument. Your eyes lie at night. They adjust and tell you it’s brighter than it is. So I meter, then I meter again, then I double-check with a light meter app on my phone because I don’t trust the Mamiya’s light meter. Then reciprocity failure turns up because film has rules, and those rules are not interested in your feelings. Two seconds is not two seconds. Ten seconds is now a negotiation. You think you’re ready, then you add time, then you add more time and you still feel like you’re guessing with expensive consequences.

The Smurf-blue Macan S framed against the KL skyline, city lights stacking behind it like a backdrop you didn’t pay for

A wide shot showing the car in context—narrow street, signage, and traffic—because night car photography is never a closed set.

Focusing is the second argument, and it’s worse because you can’t even blame the light meter when it goes wrong. I shot most of the frames at f/8 because I wanted sharpness but mostly because I was terrified of misfocus. At night, out of focus is not a rare mistake. It is the default setting of existence. F/8 is basically insurance because I don’t fully trust my ability to nail focus in low light, especially with astigmatism.

IKEA parking lot wide shot: Macan centered between white bay lines, brutal overhead lights making everything look like a crime scene

The Mamiya 7 viewfinder does not help. It’s a beautiful camera until you use it at night and realise the viewfinder feels like an eye exam you didn’t book. Looking through it hurts the eye. It hurts the head. You squint, you lean in, you pull back, you try again. Then some hero with headlamps aimed at the sky decides to point them directly at your lens and your retina gets flashbanged. Perfect.

Front view under IKEA floodlights, where the blue paint shifts cooler and every surface reflects the parking lot like a spreadsheet

Then there’s the tripod. Medium format at night without a tripod is just an expensive way to make blurry proof of your poor decisions. So you carry this kettlebell of a tripod around, sweating, shifting it from one hand to the other, pretending it doesn’t weigh as much as it does. You set it down. Lock it. Level it. Compose. Meter. Check your phone. Remember reciprocity. Focus. Re-focus because you don’t trust yourself. Activate the self-timer and wait for the shutter to trigger. Standing there for the whole process feels like years. Then you pack up. Move. Repeat.

Detail shot of the “Macan S” badge on the tailgate, in an Ikea carpark

And because it’s Malaysia, you’re doing all of this while feeling like taking a photo is borderline a crime. A person with a camera is fine. A person with a tripod is apparently planning something. So you scan for guards like you’re carrying contraband. You keep your posture casual while doing the least casual thing possible: standing still beside a Porsche in humid air, with a tripod, calculating reciprocity like you’re doing taxes.

Then the mosquitoes show up. They always show up. They don’t ask permission. They don’t care that you’re concentrating. They come in like tiny auditors, collect what they’re owed, and leave you with a few itchy receipts to remember the night by. You’re standing there trying not to shake the tripod during a three-second exposure, while a mosquito is actively taking a sip from your elbow like it paid for the session. You just let it happen and pretend it’s part of the artistic process.

Rear three-quarter view with taillights glowing, long exposure smoothing out the background while the car stays sharp at f/8

But you will get one frame where the Macan sits in the right pool of light, the reflections behave, the focus lands and the whole scene looks like it belongs in a late-night film where everyone is tired but everything looks good. That frame is why you do it again.