Photography and Realism

How did films or photography endeavour to represent an authentic representation of reality in the 20th century?

The 20th Century was a time of conflict, with a vast and varied political landscape. Opening with the Great War, the early 1900s set the scene for a turbulent era ahead. As well as war, the 20th Century was characterised by technological advancements; space exploration, nuclear power, and the digital revolution. Photography was there to capture every moment and share these developments with the world, but not all images accurately represented the truth of these events. Two key photojournalists of their generation, Henri Cartier-Bresson and Robert Capa, concerned themselves with capturing the brutal reality of war. Even when photographers strived for authenticity, issues arose in the way their work was published or censored, compromising the integrity of their images. If the photograph was taken with honest intent, it was “often perceived to be an unmediated copy of the real world, a trace of reality skimmed off the very surface of life, and evidence of the real” (Sturken & Cartwright, 2009, p. 17). Despite this, trust in the legitimacy of photographs fell through the latter half of the century due to the rise of digital image manipulation. Editing an image can alter how it represents reality, yet it is difficult to determine where reality ends and manufactured ideas begin.

The concept of the “decisive moment” was coined by the French photographer, Henri Cartier-Bresson. Cartier-Bresson was the father of both street and candid photography. He was known for looking for a scene with interesting composition and simply waiting for the opportune moment to click the button. He famously said “into this space, life will come” (The Genius of Photography: Right Place, Right Time, 2007) and in one of his most recognisable images, Behind the Gare Saint-Lazare, he captured just that. A single, decisive moment where a man leaps into a puddle, a fraction of a second before the splash. There is debate over how genuine this photograph truly is, however. With the excellent composition and the subject’s actions echoed by a poster in the background, some believe this shot to be too perfect to be completely honest. Cartier-Bresson insisted that there was nothing insincere about this image, reiterating that this was simply a case of being in the right place at the right time. He stated in his book, “’manufactured’ or staged photography does not concern me” (Cartier-Bresson, 1976).

Cartier-Bresson’s fascination with capturing authentic moments led him to pursue a career as a photojournalist. He famously covered Gandhi’s funeral, where his candid approach helped him secure shots that no other photographer was able to. He relied on ambient lighting, regarding the flash as impolite for such a solemn setting and considering the naturally lit scene as a truer representation of the occasion. In addition to lighting choices, Cartier-Bresson also tried to represent reality when composing his images. He would rarely crop his photographs in the darkroom or manipulate them in any way. This can be seen in his full-frame prints which would often include a black frame caused by including some of the unexposed negative. To edit an image was to strip it of its authenticity, and to question the integrity of the decisive moment.

Conversely, other photographers believe that even through choosing what to shoot and how to compose the frame, Cartier-Bresson was editing his images before even taking them. Oliver Chanarin stated that “so many decisions have been made in quite a measured way up until the point the picture is taken” (The Genius of Photography: Right Place, Right Time, 2007). Similarly, Sturken and Cartwright (2009, p. 453) claim that “photographs are not objective records of reality. Rather, they are the product of human choice, selective composition and manipulation.” It can be argued that even the act of choosing a subject to capture is altering the audience’s perception of reality, as the photographer is simultaneously choosing to exclude certain elements. Capturing a decisive moment is to reject all others, yet the omitted moments may provide context that the photographer has chosen to lose. Every photographer’s decisions are subject to their own motives.

One of the key photojournalists of the early 20th Century was Robert Capa. Born to a Jewish family as Endre Friedmann, he fled Budapest due to political unrest and persecution, having been accused of sympathising with the communist regime. He travelled to Berlin where he worked as a darkroom assistant. He witnessed Hitler’s rise to power and was forced again to move, this time to Paris. This is where he met Gerda Taro, who would become his professional partner and first love. Together, they created the persona of Robert Capa, publishing their work under this Americanised alias to great success.

Capa’s strong anti-fascist views led him to take a great interest in photographing wars. From 1936 to 1939, the pair documented the Spanish Civil War, during which Taro died. It was during this assignment that he took one of his most iconic photographs, “The Falling Soldier”, which depicts a young Spanish man at the moment of death, his gun falling from his hand. There is debate about the authenticity of this image, with Capa maintaining that it was genuine. Others, however, believe it was staged, as most of the frontlines were off limits to photographers. It could be argued that it doesn’t matter if it was real or staged – many soldiers were killed in exactly this way. Regardless of whether this decisive moment was real, it was certainly a representation of the reality that he was trying to capture in this war. As Vaill (2014) states, “Capa had come to Spain to capture the truth — to take the truest, best pictures, pictures that would show how the Spanish people were fighting for their ideals”.

In 1944, Capa embarked on one of his most dangerous missions: to document the Normandy landings on Omaha Beach. Instead of visiting the site days later to photograph the remains of the battle, and instead of shooting his images from a safer distance, Capa wanted to be in the action. He joined the first wave of soldiers to invade the beach and shot as many photos as he could. “I didn’t dare to take my eyes off the finder of my Contax and frantically shot frame after frame” (Robert Capa: In Love and War, 2003). Unfortunately, due to a darkroom processing error, only 11 of the 106 photos he took were published in Life magazine. Of these photographs, which inspired the iconic landing scene from “Saving Private Ryan”, Steven Spielberg stated that “it wasn’t pretty. It was kind of ugly and stark and immediate” (Robert Capa: In Love and War, 2003). These images were most certainly not staged and provide an even truer representation of the brutal reality of war than his earlier work. Capa did not provide an explanation or any captions for these images, so the magazine staff had to write their own, which would prove to be inaccurate. As Capa’s photographs were authentic, but Life’s captions were incorrect, this raises the question of responsibility when it comes to portraying reality.

Despite the misleading captions for the “Magnificent Eleven”, Life magazine generally endeavoured to be honest and truthful. During a time when Capa took a step back from war photography, he was commissioned by Senator Taft’s press agents to capture a fishing scene to promote Taft’s election campaign. After attaching a fish to the line, “Capa photographed Senator Taft catching the same dead fish over and over” (Robert Capa: In Love and War, 2003). Rather than showing the public Taft’s intended story about being a relatable, keen fisherman, Life decided to publish the true story of Taft’s team trying to stage a shot.

Bored with the mundane nature of this work, Capa decided to go back into the field and capture the developments of the Second World War in Italy. He found himself drawn back to his roots, documenting how the civilians rose up to protest against oppression, just as he had in his youth. This is what he was passionate about – showing how war had affected the public. Capa found a group of children who had taken arms to protect their homes and families. He stated “these children of Naples had stolen rifles and bullets and had fought the Germans for 14 days. These were my truest pictures of victory” (Robert Capa: In Love and War, 2003). These memorable scenes capture the true heart of Capa’s intention: to show the world the reality of war, whether beautiful or devastating, in the most authentic way possible.

In 1945, the Allies approved the use of their nuclear weapons against Japan, and the United States detonated atomic bombs above the cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. This was the first and only use of nuclear weapons in war. Over 200,000 people died due to the blasts or related complications – most of these were civilians. Japanese photographers were on the scenes of these bombings almost instantly, yet their images were confiscated by the Americans. These photos were suppressed until the end of the American occupation of Japan in 1952. Until then, the world was only permitted to see the USA’s version of events. John Dower stated that the American photographers “were interested in physical damage because their task was to measure what is the effect of the bomb 100m… from the epicentre. What the Americans turned their cameras away from is the human victims” (The Genius of Photography: Right Place, Right Time, 2007). It was 7 years after the event that the Japanese photographers’ images surfaced, and the world was able to see the devastating effects of the bombs on the people of Japan. There were photographs of barely recognisable bodies burned and twisted by the blasts, of survivors living with cancers and scars, and of children born with deformities due to the radiation. This was the true reality of the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and censorship nearly buried the stories of its victims.

It is not only censorship that threatens the authenticity of photography. Contrary to Cartier-Bresson’s assertion that photographs need to be unedited in order to be reliable, many photojournalists of the late 20th Century employed image manipulation techniques, both in the darkroom and later, with computer software such as Photoshop. Such programs enabled the photographer to add or remove elements from an image to fit their narrative. As Sturken and Cartwright (2009, p. 22) stated, “widespread use of digital imaging techniques since the 1990s has dramatically altered the status of the photograph relative to truth claims, particularly in the news media.” This became a common practice, and as such, there are “numerous examples of controversies over the manipulation of images to produce more aesthetically pleasing ‘documentary’ images. For instance, National Geographic moved the Egyptian pyramids closer together” (Sturken & Cartwright, 2009, p. 217). Life magazine was also condemned when they darkened the skin of murder suspect O.J. Simpson, exacerbating the racial tensions surrounding the case. These alterations illustrate how easy it is to manipulate an audience into accepting the presented views as inarguable truth.

As the use of image manipulation grew, many news organisations formed policies regarding digital imaging techniques, including the Washington Post, who stated:

“Photography has come to be trusted as a virtual record of an event. We must never betray that trust. It is our policy never to alter the content of news photographs. Normal adjustment to contrast and gray scale for better reproduction is permitted. This means that nothing is added or subtracted from the image such as a hand or tree limb in an inopportune position” (Schwartz, 2003).

Policies such as this were instrumental in restoring the reputation and integrity of photojournalism, allowing audiences to once again consider these photographs an authentic representation of reality.

Overall, it is clear that the issue of authenticity has only become more complicated over the last century. Consumers are sceptical about the messages represented by photographs, yet they also expect these images to portray at least some element of truth.

“Although we know that images can be ambiguous and are easily manipulated or altered, particularly with the help of digital technology, much of the power of photography still lies in the shared belief that photographs are objective or truthful records of events” (Sturken & Cartwright, 2009, p. 18).

People want to trust photographs as they are arguably more objective than all other visual representations of events. Evidently, even if editors or publishers altered or suppressed certain images that didn’t fit their agenda, the photographers of the 20th Century desperately sought to capture that authentic, decisive moment, even if it risked their lives. They created images with as genuine a representation of reality as possible, given the limitations of the medium of photography.

References

Cartier-Bresson, H., (1976). Henri Cartier-Bresson. Hong Kong: Aperture Foundation, p7.

Robert Capa: In Love and War. (2003). [Film] Directed by Anne Makepeace. USA: Eagle Rock Entertainment.

Schwartz, D., (2003). Professional Oversight: Policing the Credibility of Photojournalism. In: L. Gross, J. S. Katz & J. Ruby, eds. Image Ethics in the Digital Age. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, p. 36.

Sturken, M. & Cartwright, L., (2009). Practices of Looking: An Introduction to Visual Culture. 2nd ed. New York: Oxford University Press.

The Genius of Photography: Right Place, Right Time. (2007). [Film] Directed by Deborah Lee. United Kingdom: BBC.

Vaill, A., (2014). Hotel Florida: Truth, Love, and Death in the Spanish Civil War. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux.