Eddy van Wessel has a long, distinguished career as the top war photographer in the Netherlands. His trademark black and white photographs form an iconography of man’s inhumanity to man over the last three or four decades. He has captured images of conflicts in Chechnya, Syria, and Iraq, to name a few. And yet Ukraine seems to present him with a challenge framed by reaching the limits of a physically – and emotionally – draining job when he is at the peak of his professional experience but facing up to the fact that he is no longer a young man.
Bakhmut
Cataloguing the horrors of war across the seasons from the autumn of 2022 through the summer of 2023, Eddy and director Joost van der Valk push themselves to the limits, always seeking the frontlines and remaining in the shattered city of Bakhmut even after parts of it have been taken by Russian forces.
Van der Valk introduces his audience to Eddy and his work gently compared to the gut-wrenching horror that the genre of war photography can show. A wounded Ukrainian soldier is brought to a casualty clearing station close to the front lines, and the juxtaposition between van der Valk’s vivid colour footage and the hauntingly beautiful monochrome images Eddy produces sets up the film.
Bakhmut is a desolate place. It cannot have been very pretty before the war – its Soviet-era prefabricated concrete apartment blocks lack any pleasing aesthetic – but burned and bombarded by war, it is now simply a place of pain. Eddy has an eye and a nose for sensing the most telling images. Like most war photographers, he is not immune to human suffering – indeed, he feels his job is a necessary witness to the carnage visited by war – but when working, he is totally focused on the image.
At one point in Bakhmut, Eddy and his Ukrainian assistant arrive in a village on the outskirts shortly after a volley of Russian shells have left civilians crumpled dead in the streets. They pull over, parking their car as safely as possible, and Eddy begins talking to locals and shooting pictures. A man whose neighbour is lying lifeless, wrapped around a metal gate, is in shock, blandly stating that the obvious: anyone out in the open didn’t stand a chance. Others direct their anger at the journalists, claiming the shelling was caused by his presence. Pleas that they had arrived after the barrage are met with more anger. «Let’s get out of here, now,» Eddy mutters as they scurry back to their car.
Van der Valk introduces his audience to Eddy and his work gently compared to the gut-wrenching horror that the genre of war photography can show.
Drawing characters
Watching a war photographer at work can be difficult: as others scramble to pull the wounded and dead from wrecked buildings, Eddy is weaving between them to achieve the best shot. It is easy to assume that he does not give a damn about those he photographs when the opposite is the truth. One of my longest-standing professional associations has been with an award-winning Irish war photographer. Although our work together came after his active years in combat zones, I heard plenty of the stories to know what hell he went through for the incredible images he captured. Of course, there is bravado and ego there – journalism is a job that draws characters, and working in conflict zones exacerbates that. But Eddy’s images show a sensitivity and eye for detail that is the mark of a true professional working under the most difficult conditions.
It is telling that, at one point, Eddy remarks that he failed to get his best shots in Bakhmut because of the constant distractions from snipers and drones. The war in Ukraine must be really hell if a war photographer remarks on that. His professional ego comes to the surface on the occasions when he is prevented from achieving what he aims to: a beautiful shot of a father with a couple of kids balanced on his bicycle is lost because Eddy’s assistant seems reluctant to stop at the moment Eddy wants. And, later, in the summer of 2023, when Eddy has gained permission to operate with an armoured brigade on the frontlines, his frustration at being stopped from actually going up to the trenches is evident: he explodes, first cursing in English, then Dutch. «I understand the difficulties of getting me up there, but this is history!» he exclaims.
Adding to the record
Van der Valk balances the wrenching war scenes with peaceful interludes in which Eddy is back in the Netherlands, printing photographs or visiting family in Sweden.
The closing images of this moving portrayal of Ukraine’s anguish show us the scene where a crowded restaurant in Kramatorsk has been hit by a Russian missile – killing more than a dozen people, including acclaimed Ukrainian writer Victoria Amelina – and the funeral of two young sisters who also died there. Van der Valk’s footage captures the distressing funeral, with mourners collapsing in tears over the coffins; Eddy’s still shots are images of painful beauty.
The war in Ukraine is producing more and more documentaries. Some, like this one, are excellent—it is not surprising that 20 Days in Mariupol won an Oscar. Others are not so good. But all of them add something to the record of the horrors Russia has visited upon the country—and that record can never be considered final while the war continues to rage.
