I like photographing the people I love, the people I admire, the

Opening Scene

The late afternoon sun bathes the room in a warm, golden glow, casting long shadows across the polished floor. The air is thick with the scent of cigarettes, and the faint hum of a nearby record player drifts in from another room. The walls are lined with black-and-white photographs, some classic, others a little more controversial. There’s an artistic chaos to the space, a reflection of the man who’s made it his home.

Jack lounges in a vintage leather chair, a glass of whiskey in his hand, his eyes fixed on a photograph on the wall — a striking, almost unsettling image of a politician from another time. Jeeny stands nearby, looking at the photo with a mix of curiosity and discomfort, her fingers tracing the edge of the frame.

Host: The atmosphere is charged, heavy with the weight of unspoken thoughts. Jeeny’s brow furrows, her gaze lingering on the photograph, while Jack seems lost in his own musings, his voice low as he finally speaks.

Jack: “You ever wonder what it’s like to photograph someone like that? Someone who represents so much more than just their face? Someone who’s both famous and infamous at the same time?”

Jeeny: “I don’t know if I could ever bring myself to photograph someone like that. Someone who stands for everything I oppose. Jean-Marie Le Pen, for example — what’s the point of giving a man like that more attention? Why honor him with a portrait?”

Jack: “Because it’s not about honoring him. It’s about capturing what people are really made of, the truth of their existence. Helmut Newton understood that. He wasn’t afraid to show the ugly side, the parts of humanity that we usually ignore or try to forget.”

Jeeny: “But isn’t there something dangerous about glorifying people like him? Le Pen was known for his hateful rhetoric, his division. Doesn’t a photograph just immortalize those ideals?”

Jack: “It’s not about glorifying, it’s about understanding. A photograph isn’t a celebration of a person, it’s a moment frozen in time. It’s about what that moment says about us, as much as it says about them. Newton said he liked photographing the people he loved, the ones he admired, but also the infamous, the ones who stirred something deep in people. It’s not about approving of them, it’s about capturing the essence of the conflict they create.”

Host: The light flickers as a car drives by, casting a brief, distorted shadow across the room. Jeeny takes a step back from the photograph, her eyes still lingering on the contours of Le Pen’s face, as if trying to make sense of it. Jack leans forward in his chair, his expression more intense now, like a man who has uncovered a deeper truth.

Jeeny: “But doesn’t that approach humanize them in a way that makes them more relatable? Newton might have captured a truth, but what happens when that truth normalizes something evil? What if the image becomes the message? It’s like what they say about advertising — the more you see something, the more you start to accept it.”

Jack: “You’re overthinking it. A photograph doesn’t change the reality of who they are, it just shows us how they exist in the world. Le Pen’s actions, his beliefs, are what define him — not the photograph. The portrait just documents that moment in history, in his life. It doesn’t make him more acceptable.”

Jeeny: “It still feels like baiting the public, though. Provoking them into admiring the wrong things. It’s like, by focusing on him, Newton almost gives him a certain legitimacy. People see that photo, and it reinforces the idea that infamy is worth noticing. That’s a dangerous message.”

Jack: “But isn’t there also danger in pretending that those kinds of people don’t exist? Ignoring them doesn’t make them go away. It just allows the darkness to thrive in the shadows. Newton didn’t shy away from confronting it, from showing the world in all its complexity. He knew that beauty and ugliness coexist, and that truth comes from acknowledging both.”

Host: The sound of the record player spins out a melancholy tune, the music drifting through the room like a soft reminder of what has been lost. Jack’s eyes soften, his expression reflecting a quieter, more thoughtful mood. Jeeny crosses her arms, her gaze shifting from the photograph to the man sitting in the chair before her. She seems torn, struggling with the tension between acknowledging the truth and the responsibility of sharing it.

Jeeny: “I understand what you’re saying, but where do we draw the line? Is it okay to immortalize someone who’s done so much harm? Doesn’t that give them more power, more influence than they deserve?”

Jack: “I don’t think it’s about giving them power. It’s about documenting history, even the parts we’d rather forget. You can’t erase people like Le Pen, or what they stand for. They’re a part of our world, and we need to confront that. Newton’s work isn’t about making us love these people, it’s about making us see them, to understand the darkness in all its forms.”

Jeeny: “But it’s not just about seeing them, is it? Photographs don’t just record, they reflect the way we see the world. And when we keep looking at people like Le Pen, we risk becoming numb to the danger of their ideals. Maybe the real question is, why do we keep revisiting that darkness?”

Jack: “Because it’s necessary. It’s necessary to acknowledge it, to understand it. By photographing the infamous, we take the power away from their ability to control the narrative. The photograph doesn’t give them power; it exposes them, it shows us the ugliness that we need to recognize and fight against.”

Host: The silence that follows is thick with thought, as though both Jack and Jeeny are wrestling with their own feelings about the power of an image, the responsibility of the photographer, and the role of memory in shaping the future. The flickering light seems to slow, each moment stretching out, heavy with unspoken truths.

Climax and Reconciliation

Jeeny: “I guess I see what you mean. It’s not about making them heroes, it’s about confronting the truth. But it’s still so hard to look at someone like Le Pen and think that a photograph of him will ever be anything but a tool for normalizing his hate.”

Jack: “I get that, Jeeny. I do. But photography isn’t about what we wish the world was — it’s about what it actually is. And sometimes, the truth is uncomfortable. We can’t just choose the parts of the world we want to celebrate. We have to face the ugly too, or it’ll keep coming back, stronger than before.”

Host: The record player slows, the needle gently lifting off the record as the room falls into an almost peaceful quiet. The photograph of Jean-Marie Le Pen remains on the wall, its presence a reminder of the delicate balance between truth and danger, between the light and the shadow.

Jeeny and Jack sit in that silence for a moment, each absorbing the weight of the conversation. The air between them feels less tense now, more understanding, as though they’ve come to a new place — one where the truth is uncompromising, but also a little more human.