George Bernard Shaw

Shaw, close to ninety, burst into the 1943 sitting determined to awe the young photographer and played the part of a genial devil. He told Karsh about glimpsing a cruel but perfect caricature of himself at a dinner party, which turned out to be a mirror, then peered at him to see whether the joke had landed. That quizzical look, above the bristling white beard, is the moment Karsh caught.