‘The Stringer’ Review: Who Took the Historic Vietnam War Photo Known as ‘Napalm Girl’? A Riveting Documentary Says the Answer Lies in a Conspiracy

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In the realm of both fictional films and documentaries, uncovering conspiracies is a common thread. However, when a documentary manages to expose a conspiracy, it can recapture that quiet intensity and intrigue often missing in today’s thrillers and political dramas – a feeling reminiscent of the 70s, an era of iconic works like “All the President’s Men,” “Chinatown,” “The Conversation,” and “The Parallax View.

The film titled ‘The Stringer’ delves into a captivating mystery surrounding the authentic creator of the infamous Vietnam War photo. This photograph, captured on June 8, 1972, in Trảng Bàng, depicted the heart-wrenching aftermath of a napalm attack – a nine-year-old girl named Phan Thị Kim Phúc, running exposed, her arms extended as if broken wings, her face contorted in a cry of pain. Her entire body was severely burnt, as seen in the image where four other children, clothed and fleeing with her, are also present. Known globally as “Napalm Girl”, this photograph has become one of the most memorable and disturbing representations of war’s horrors.

The photograph known as “Napalm Girl” is renowned for its immense historical significance and profound impact on public perception towards the Vietnam War. While it’s often claimed that the photo played a role in ending the war, this might be an exaggeration. However, the question remains: who captured this powerful image? On the day following the shoot, when it was dispatched from the Saigon office of the Associated Press, it was attributed to Nick Út, a 21-year-old Vietnamese photographer who worked for the AP as their local staff member. In a matter of hours, the photograph transformed his life. From that point forward, he gained widespread recognition for having snapped one of the most iconic images of the 20th century.

However, “The Stringer,” directed by Bao Nguyen, known for “The Greatest Night in Pop,” and executive produced by Gary Knight, who led the two-year investigation at the heart of the film (Gary Knight, a tall, courtly British man with a white wedge of hair, acts as both the on-camera guide and interviewer), alleges that Nick Út was not the one who captured the iconic photograph. According to the documentary, it was actually Nguyen Thanh Nghe, a freelance photographer who supplied images to the AP, who took the picture. Both Út and Nghe were present on that fateful day in Trảng Bàng, among other film cameramen and photographers.

The movie suggests that Horst Faas, an AP photo editor in Saigon, knew Nghe had taken the famous ‘Napalm Girl’ photo, yet after paying him the standard fee of $20, he requested the image to be attributed to Nick Út, one of AP’s staff members. The film implies this practice was common and not seen as significant at the time; it was part of a “benign” exploitation system. However, with a photo of such immense impact, altering the credit (if indeed it was changed) turned out to be consequential.

In my role, I express whether I believe a movie is excellent or not, and let me tell you, “The Stringer” is an outstanding film – captivating, tense, engrossing. However, the assessment isn’t straightforward. The entire motion picture revolves around a fundamental query: Was it Nick Út who took that photograph? Or was it Nguyen Thanh Nghe? To truly appreciate the movie, you must weigh in on its central argument, which essentially suggests a conspiracy theory – that the credit for the photo was wrongly claimed, and this has allegedly been concealed for half a century. If the conspiracy is indeed true, it would be shocking, heartbreaking, perhaps even criminal.

In this story, it’s Gary Knight, a skilled photographer, who takes the lead in the investigation. However, the key character is Carl Robinson, who, at one point, was an editor for AP photos. Now in his eighties, Robinson confessed that he replaced one photographer’s name with another upon orders from his superior, Horst Faas. He admits to keeping this secret, feeling a tense, unspoken guilt, for over five decades.

What made him remain silent earlier? Speaking up would have caused a massive uproar; it could have ignited a powder keg in a delicate cultural matter, affected numerous individuals who had been deceiving about it, and moreover, he would have had to challenge the AP, an institution extremely protective of its history. The AP undertook a six-month investigation on this issue, interviewing seven witnesses, and concluded that there was no conspiracy or swapped photo credit – Nick Út was indeed the actual photographer. The AP has expressed strong opposition towards “The Stringer,” and Nick Út himself has threatened to sue the filmmakers.

Initially, I cautiously viewed “The Stringer” due to my skepticism towards its assertions. This was partly because the movie didn’t adopt an investigative approach but instead assumed the photo credit was stolen from the outset. As it progressed, it appeared to have already made up its mind, which raised red flags for me. Meanwhile, Carl Robinson narrated his account (about being instructed to falsify the photo credit), and it resonated as genuine. A doubt lingered behind this tale: Why would he fabricate such a story if it harmed his reputation? The narrative paints him in a negative light. Fox Butterworth, the renowned New York Times journalist who disputes the film’s thesis, has speculated that Robinson is lying out of grudge towards his former employer, AP, with whom he parted ways in 1978. However, this seems implausible. To concoct this story after a 47-year gap, merely to seek revenge on an organization you worked for decades ago, appears highly unlikely.

Nick Út declined to participate in the documentary interviews (indicating perhaps some underlying reason), and a significant portion of “The Stringer” focuses on the filmmakers’ efforts to uncover the mysterious identity of the unknown photographer who took the iconic “Napalm Girl” photo. At the beginning of the movie, they were completely unaware of his identity or even if he was still alive. The narrative transforms into a detective story. Carl Robinson’s Vietnamese wife hints that 50 years ago, it was common knowledge among Vietnamese photographers that the credit for the “Napalm Girl” photo was fraudulent. As Nguyen Thanh Nghe’s name eventually surfaces, viewers begin to experience the emotional release typically associated with suspenseful dramas. The filmmakers manage to locate Nghe in California, where he has resided for many years, and they piece together his life story. Eventually, Gary Knight gets a chance to speak with him, allowing us to hear his account of the events.

Nghe’s memories provide no definitive evidence, but they present a convincing narrative. As spectators, we find ourselves drawn to him – a man in his nineties, exuding quiet strength and radiant honesty, with mental faculties that seem undiminished. He assertively claims responsibility for the photograph and its subsequent confiscation. This raises the question: Why would an elderly man fabricate such a story if it weren’t true? There’s no indication of any desire for argument or acclaim on his part. It’s puzzling that his account aligns so closely with Carl Robinson’s. The most intriguing aspect of Nghe’s tale is the haunting detail: He claims Horst Faas, on that critical day, handed him a copy of the photo he had taken, which Nghe then took home. His wife was disturbed by it and destroyed it. This lost piece could have been a crucial piece of evidence supporting his authorship.

The film ‘The Stringer,’ similar to any gripping conspiracy thriller, stirs up our desire to accept what we see. This is inherent to such movies. However, I’m too much of a jaded skeptic to accept this emotional pull as concrete truth. When watching a documentary like this one, it’s not emotions or convincing arguments that we seek most. Instead, we crave evidence. As citizens observing a film about an intriguing photographic artifact, we yearn for proof. Strangely enough, even as moviegoers who have been accustomed to half a century of conspiracy cinema, we expect a climax that delivers a clear-cut solution – something akin to finding the smoking gun.

Did you know? In the movie, “The Stringer” shows images that were taken during those dreadful moments on the road in Trảng Bàng. The village behind it had been bombed (by mistake) by South Vietnamese Air Raiders. (You got it right, the incident captured in “Napalm Girl” was actually a “friendly fire” event and U.S. forces were not involved.) About halfway through, the 8 x 10 photos are displayed on a table, reminding you of the scene in Brian De Palma’s “Blow Out” where the soundman, played by John Travolta, arranges still photographs to create a short moving video similar to the Zapruder film. (By the way, I’ve always found that scene in “Blow Out” to be the point where I lose interest in the movie – it’s a film I intensely dislike. Because it seems highly implausible that a mainstream magazine would publish enough stills from a Zapruder-type film for you to create a short video out of them.)

In an unexpected twist, the tableau of photos in “The Stringer” serves as just a tantalizing prelude. The filmmakers pass on all their gathered data to a team of forensic investigators in Paris, who then conduct an intricate analysis using computers and satellite imagery. They meticulously determine the exact positions of individuals during those pivotal minutes in Trảng Bàng. Come the film’s climax, they reveal their findings, which is reminiscent of scrutinizing the Zapruder film, searching for that critical visual clue that will all of a sudden illuminate the concealed truth.

I’m marveling at the recollections unfolding – me, running alongside Kim Phúc on that road, just as vividly depicted in those historical footage clips. I’m observing the photographers who bore witness to this event. And I find myself looking at the photographs they captured – each detail aligning perfectly in terms of space and time.

The ultimate finding of the analysis presents a person, located quite a distance away, approximately 60 feet from Kim Phúc, who was not present at the time the iconic “Napalm Girl” photo was taken. This individual, identified as Nick Út by the forensic team, is said to be that figure. Various photos are then presented showing him in a position where he could have captured those images. Interestingly, these photos were credited to Nick Út and indeed, they were his work. This implies that Nick Út could not have been in the right place at the right time for the “Napalm Girl” photograph. The story of “The Stringer” is a powerful human narrative with significant cultural impact. However, like all conspiracy theories, it offers a compelling fascination derived from unmasking reality. It’s worth viewing, not just for the truths it contains, but also for its captivating allure.

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2025-02-08 08:17