The Great War: The camera doesn’t lie

Without the photographic contributions of Frank Hurley, we would be poorer—and know only part of the truth.

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Frank Hurley was an Australian photographer and cinematographer who became the AIF’s second official war photographer, landing at the Western Front three years into the war. His job was to document the war, to provide images to the media, and to capture the heroism of the Diggers to show those back home. What he captured, however, was hell on earth; he shot images of battles and their haunting aftermath, and was horrified by the scenes of death and devastation that confronted him.

His famous black-and-white photographs of lonely figures and desolate landscapes are shocking and moving, but some have also been called false records, even though he was there. This is because he used clever techniques in the darkroom to build composite images, using more than one negative. He pioneered “photoshopping” way back in the early 20th century.

His famous war-time scribe counterpart, historian Charles Bean, was adamant that Hurley’s composite photographs were lies, and that history demanded the plain, simple truth. That debate, about art versus truth, representation versus documentation, rages on to this day when it comes to photography.

Hurley witnessed the planes, heard and saw the explosions, witnessed the brave soldiers emerging from the trenches. But his equipment and chance didn’t bring everything together in one moment. E05429

Hurley once wrote that he would dress in civilian clothes and eavesdrop on the ‘diggers’ who were visiting his exhibitions. He felt their favourable comments about his composite photographs justified their production. B01598

Combined image: ‘The Raid’, or ‘Over the Top’, is perhaps Hurley’s most famous combination of multiple images, first exhibited in London in 1918. It’s war at a high-pitched climax of chaos and danger. It terrifies you to imagine being there. No doubt soldiers encountered battles like this day after day. We would forgive a painter for depicting this scene as recalled in the artist’s memory. Hurley is using photographic layers as his canvas and brush here. It’s a masterful composition. E05988A

Can photography be totally objective, an authentic mirror of the reality of a moment? Essentially, it’s a form of communication—from photographer to viewer. Hurley desperately wanted to portray his own disgust and horror, to depict what he saw and felt in the war zones in such a way that his audience would feel it too. And he couldn’t always get this with one negative. When wanting to convey events he witnessed at different times, his single images didn’t capture his “truth”, so he had to create it.

In this series we see how Hurley captured a truly horrible scene of death and injury. E01202

Hurley adds heavenly rays of sunlight. E05430D

Combined image: He has changed the crop to present it in vertical format. It becomes a very emotive illustration as a result. Such horror, contrasted by such a beautiful sky. A forgiving sky. A sky that can’t be blemished or scarred by war. To viewers back home, it offers some hope that these poor souls now rest in peace. E01202A

The process of producing a photograph is a human one, despite the technology involved. It’s a strange meld of art and science, and so many variables come into play: the happenstance of being in the right place at the right time, the equipment a photographer has to work with, the final choice of image from the multiple shots taken and, back in Hurley’s day, the techniques and skills employed in the darkroom. It is an art form. Hurley produced what he felt and saw on the Western Front just as a painter would have done; his combined scenes are all the more real because of the effort and emotion he put into those final images.

But for many people, a major attraction of photography is the purity of presenting a picture to a viewer and enjoying the trust that comes from proclaiming this single moment in time was frozen in front of the camera’s lens. The photographer was the witness; the picture, his or her hand-on-bible testimony.

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Hurley’s assistant, who helped carry his equipment, is cropped out of this scene. Picture: E01265B

Combined image: Again Hurley presents a vertical composition, adding a dramatic explosion to disrupt an otherwise still moment. E01265A

If we apply this standard to some of Hurley’s work, then yes, he misled us. These scenes did occur, but not in a single moment in a single place. But this wasn’t mischief—these were the efforts of a passionate and sensitive photographer wanting to convey a mood. To capture and illustrate a memory or experience of events happening half a world away from Australia. It was Hurley’s message. And we should be forever grateful for his toil.

His single-capture images and his composites are simply extraordinary. It is incredible that he could use such bulky, heavy equipment during scenes of brutal conflict. Then to have the care and professionalism to keep his precious photographic plates dry and light-tight so they could make the journey back from the front, be transformed with chemicals and emerge from the darkroom as permanent records for generations to come.

Hurley finds an excellent path where soldiers and horses make their way to the next battle. E01197

One can hardly imagine the conditions for the infantry, crossing muddy terrain to get to the front-line trenches. E01222

Combined image: The photographer, tortured by not finding a single moment that reflected this military advance, combines the different stages. Infantry in single file sweeping towards a dramatic horizon and a column of horses that beautifully illustrates their arduous journey. E01480

Controversy aside, those single-capture images are stunning. Portraits of servicemen during a break, under whatever shelter they could find in a barren war-torn landscape. Haunting and yet heroic are the feelings stirred by his picture of infantry moving forward to the front line at dusk, their stoic figures reflected perfectly in the water below. In the cellars of Ypres—light moments where troops could escape war’s horror and enjoy mateship over a game of cards and a yarn about going home. An incongruent scene where troops unload 15-inch Howitzer shells while a dog enjoys the centre of attention.

Captain Frank Hurley is nothing short of an Australian legend. Without his photographic contributions, we would be poorer—and know only part of the truth.

Milan Scepanovic is picture editor of The Australian.

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Classic Hurley

From the state library of NSW exhibition ‘world without end’

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