Were it an animal, the Casio TRYX would be enough to singlehandedly refute intelligent design. It's pretty. It's fun! It works well. But there's really no way to explain the strange, strange way it is.
The TRYX is a decent camera. It shoots 1080p with decently bright colors, and decently fine detail. I wouldn't say the output's any kind of quantum leap beyond the 720p stuff the iPhone 4's able to crank out, but it's solid. Above, you can watch my mundane commute to work. Sorry it's not thrilling. Sorry I'm not a god damn astronaut, OK?
As a still camera, it's good. A 12 MP sensor, adjustable ISO and white balance—in line with most midrange point-and-shoots its size in terms of quality, though certainly not in functionality. It uses a minimal, easily navigable touch interface on the big, crisp viewfinder—which is good, because it only has two physical buttons.
All of this sits in a very sleek case, light body. And about that body...
The entire existence of the TRYX lies upon the gimmick of its form. Its lens is fitted into a hinged frame which flips out away from the LCD, allowing you to rotate the two independently. But not all the way around. It's flexible, but only to an extent. You can't spin the screen or lens around entirely, which is a bummer.
Truthfully, I don't know why it's designed this way. You can turn it into a sort of improvised triangle-shaped stand if you fancy yourself the next Bieber want to take a self-video, and the jointed design could make framing group shots easier, but I'm at a loss as to what else you would do with its strange body. Hang it from a tree?
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