It’s one of the most famous photographs ever taken. In it, a 9-year-old girl runs down a road in South Vietnam, naked, her skin burning from a napalm attack as she shrieks in agony. It’s a searing encapsulation of the tragic consequences of war, as well as a potent reminder that the victims of these conflicts are often the youngest and most vulnerable among us.
But “The Stringer,” a controversial documentary that debuted at this year’s Sundance Film Festival, claims that Nick Ut, the Associated Press photographer who won a Pulitzer Prize for taking the shot outside the town of Trang Bang, wasn’t the photo’s author. Instead, the film alleges that Nguyen Thanh Nghe, a freelancer and a driver for NBC, actually captured the image, popularly known as “Napalm Girl,” and has been denied recognition for decades.
Before delivering this bombshell, director Bao Nguyen and an investigative team led by Gary Knight, founder of The VII Foundation, and producer Fiona Turner, interviewed 55 people, including Nghe and a former AP photo editor named Carl Robinson, who claims he was pressured to change the credit by his boss. They also drew on forensic evidence, such as images and footage taken of the event, and commissioned 3D modeling to try to prove Ut was not in a position to take the photo that made him world renowned.
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“I hope this film inspires more people to tell their stories,” Nguyen said. “What’s surprised me though is that in a field I revere like journalism, I would think more people would be trying to seek these stories out and not try to suppress people from sharing their truth in their voice.”
“This is a film that a lot of people don’t want you to see, and there’s a reason for it,” he added. “It’s provocative. It uncovers a lot of uncomfortable truths, but it’s powerful, it’s compelling, and it’s a story that hasn’t been told for 50 years.”
The blowback against “The Stringer” has been intense. James Hornstein, an attorney for Ut, said in an email that “a defamation action will soon be filed against the filmmakers.” He went on to state, “The alleged ‘stringer’ claims he was the driver for NBC and drove the NBC crew to Trang Bang. He was not there as a photographer nor am I aware of any images he claims to have taken that day or any other day close in time.”
Hornstein also emailed a statement from Kim Phúc, the girl pictured in the image, in which she said that she declined to be interviewed for “The Stringer” because it contained an “outrageous and false attack on Nick Ut.” Though Phúc was in shock after the bombing and doesn’t have a memory of who took the photo, she says that other eyewitnesses told her Ut captured the image of her running in terror and pain. She praised the AP photographer for taking her to the hospital that day so she could be treated for her wounds. “I have no doubt that Nick Ut is the person who saved my life,” she said in the statement.
Knowing that the film was in production, The Associated Press commissioned its own six-month review of the origins of one of its most iconic photographs, interviewing seven witnesses who were at Trang Bang that day or who were involved in the organization’s Saigon bureau. “Our research supports the historical account that Nick Ut took this picture,” the organization said in a statement. “In the absence of new, convincing evidence to the contrary, AP has no reason to believe this photo was taken by anyone other than Ut.”
Knight said he wasn’t surprised that Ut has threatened to take legal action. “It’s not unusual for journalists, especially investigative journalists, to be threatened with being sued,” he said. “That just comes with the territory. It comes with the turf. As a journalist, you know, people are threatening to kidnap you, kill you, sue you. That happens. It’s routine.”
Perhaps it was inevitable given that “The Stringer” is raising questions about a defining moment in photojournalism, but since premiering on Saturday, the documentary has become one of Sundance’s most divisive and talked-about films. Its supporters argue it corrects a historical injustice thanks to meticulous reporting, while its detractors, some of whom saw the attack and its aftermath, maintain it presents a distorted view of what happened and unfairly maligns Ut.
At times, the fierce debate over the film’s merits has played out on the ground at Sundance. On Monday, Fox Butterfield, a former New York Times journalist who witnessed a wounded Phúc fleeing the village, attended a Salt Lake City screening of “The Stringer.” After being called on at a post-screening Q&A, he pushed back on the filmmaker’s claim that it was Nghe who took the photo, calling the film “disappointing.” Butterfield, who was interviewed for the project, also said that the “Stringer” team would only share their evidence that Nghe was the photographer if he agreed to sign a nondisclosure agreement, which he refused to do.
In an interview with Variety, Butterfield said he vividly remembers that day in South Vietnam, recalling both the attack — where he witnessed Ut taking photos of the scene — as well as going to The Associated Press’ offices in Saigon where Ut’s film was being developed. He remembers Horst Faas, AP’s Saigon chief of photos, excitedly congratulating Ut on his shot. The image that Ut captured was printed on the front page of The New York Times in the edition with Butterfield’s story about the attack.
“It was hard for me to watch somebody claiming that Nick Ut didn’t take the picture,” he said. “I was on the scene and saw the real thing.”
He remembers Ut “taking photos as one of several photographers there and a film crew.” He also recalls seeing the NBC crew that day, but did not know Nghe. “Now we’re being told that a driver for the NBC crew is really the photographer,” Butterfield said. “That’s news to me.”
The former Times reporter is concerned that the debate around the photo’s authorship obscures the reason that the image has endured. Phúc and her family were fleeing from the North Vietnamese when they were mistakenly targeted by a pilot from the Republic of Vietnam Air Force, who thought they were the enemy.
“It was horrifying,” he says. “It was an extraordinary illustration of the cost of friendly fire. … Nobody remembers my story, but they remember Nick’s photo.”
Butterfield also questions Robinson’s motivation for coming forward with his claim that Nghe took the photo of Phúc — an assertion that helped set the documentary in motion. He believes that the editor is operating out of an animus toward The Associated Press, which Butterfield claimed dismissed Robinson in 1978. “He has a grievance against them,” he said.
Knight and Bao see things differently. They believe that Robinson, who says Faas told him to credit Ut because he was an AP staffer, was desperate to make amends with the freelancer who was elbowed aside. The film concludes with a meeting between Robinson and Nghe in which the editor tearfully apologizes.
“Carl is in his 80s now,” Knight says. “He’s a man of conscience, and he’s been living with this guilt for decades, and he needed to get it off his chest. And, you know, he couldn’t live with it any longer.”
The filmmakers argue that Robinson was initially worried about defying Faas and potentially endangering his job, and then later feared the pushback he’d receive if he went public. “People have asked, ‘Why didn’t Carl Robinson come forward earlier?’ And the answer to that is apparent on Facebook and Instagram,” Nguyen said. “Look at the ad hominem attacks on the people who are involved with this film.”
In a statement, the filmmakers pushed back on Butterfield’s argument that Robinson was an unreliable source because he had deeper issues with The Associated Press.
“Fox Butterfield worked for The [New York Times]. He isn’t privy to the AP’s relationship with Carl Robinson. He and other retired Vietnam era journalists use this argument to discredit Carl, and use it to seek to undermine his legitimacy as an eyewitness. Carl’s interpersonal relationships do not discredit any of his allegations. Our journalism did not rely on Carl’s allegations but used them as a starting point for the investigation.”
When that investigation started, the filmmakers didn’t know much about Nghe’s identity or whereabouts. Through an extensive search on social media and public records, they discovered that he was living in California with his family. In interviews, Nghe said he was paid $20 for his photo and given a print, which his wife later ripped up because she worried the violent image would frighten their children.
“He felt like he never had any physical proof that would allow him to step forward,” Nguyen said. “He came to America as a refugee with his family. He had to take care of his family, had to adapt to a whole new culture and a whole new country full of different norms than he’s used to. He just didn’t feel like he had the infrastructure and the foundation and the systems of support that would allow him to speak up without getting attacked.”
Both Nguyen and Knight believe that their film has become so contested because it elevates a different perspective on the war.
“A group of, you know, older white heterosexual men who covered the war in Vietnam don’t want their legacy and the status quo challenged,” Knight says.
He argues that Nghe’s experience of being a local freelancer whose work was appropriated or erased by Western reporters and editors is all too common.
“Horst Faas would never have tried to take a photograph away from me,” Knight said. “He would have known that as a Western photographer, I would have fought back. I would have been able to argue with him. But there are many instances of freelance photographers who are photographing their own country at war, during times when the coverage is dominated by the American press or the American military, who have absolutely no hope of being heard or listened to.”
On Saturday at Sundance, Nghe joined the “Stringer” team for the post-screening Q&A. Through a translator, he declared, “I took the photo.” Nguyen said watching Nghe receive the public validation made the arduous experience of making the film worth it.
“He’s in his mid-80s, and he’s just had a stroke and is quite frail,” Nguyen said. “He stood up slowly. And as the audience turned around and saw him, they all stood right back up and clapped for three good minutes. And he was just so grateful. He had the biggest smile on his face. It was a beautiful moment.”