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Yahoo
23-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
Who Really Took the Iconic 'Napalm Girl' Photo? Director of New Doc Addresses the Controversy (Exclusive)
As the lights came on at the Sundance premiere of the documentary The Stringer last January, there was no doubt for many viewers that one of the most important photos in the history of journalism — the Pulitzer Prize–winning 1972 snapshot titled The Terror of War — has been misattributed. In the months since, the controversy over who really took the devastating Vietnam War image better known as 'Napalm Girl,' which put a heart-wrenching human face on the horrors of the conflict and helped galvanize the anti-war movement, has only grown, even though the film has not been released and no distributor has been announced. The photo was taken after a napalm attack in the South Vietnamese village of Trảng Bàn. There were a number of journalists, cameramen and photographers positioned on a road as a naked nine-year-old girl named Phan Thi Kim Phuc fled the attack with others. The film uses archival footage, testimonies, forensic recreations and other means to investigate who really took the photo. More from The Hollywood Reporter Prince William Launches 'Guardians' Docuseries on Rangers on BBC Earth Digital Platforms Jewish Rapper and Comedian Kosha Dillz Says His Film's Canceled Screening Has Been Reinstated 'Raoul's' Documentary Set for Tribeca Festival World Premiere (Exclusive) For the first time, in an exclusive interview with The Hollywood Reporter, the film's director, Bao Nguyen, addresses the controversy over what has happened since the intense night of the premiere. The film makes a strong case that the the photographer long-credited with taking the photo in 1972, Nick Út, a young Vietnamese AP staffer at the time, did not take it and that a man ignored by the mainstream for 50 years, Nguyễn Thành Nghệ (pronounced 'Nay'), who was a freelance photographer, did. In the world of photojournalism, it was as shocking a conclusion as if someone proved that Woodward and Bernstein did not do their own reporting on the Watergate stories that led to the resignation of President Richard Nixon. Attendees of the Sundance premiere of The Stringer on Jan. 25 were surprised to learn after the screening that Nghệ himself was in the audience, frail but standing proud, saying in Vietnamese-accented English, simply, 'I took the photo.' Nguyen's film chronicles the work of investigative journalists Gary Knight, Fiona Turner, Terri Lichstein and Lê Văn as they tracked down the origins of the photograph through the fog of war and time. THR's Sheri Linden praised The Stringer's restrained structure as 'the stuff of Conrad or Dostoyevsky.' Yet The Stringer has been met with silence, or worse, contempt from many corners of the journalism world, with defenders of Út posting extensively on public and private social media. On May 6, then, the Associated Press announced that it had completed its own supposedly thorough investigation of the photo's attribution. AP concluded that Út was in a position to take the photo and said it would continue to credit the photo to him. On May 16, 10 days later, the influential Amsterdam-based foundation World Press Photo reached a different conclusion, determining that there was a good chance Nghệ or another photographer had taken the image and decided to suspend Út's credit. Út's lawyer James Hornstein, who has called the film 'defamatory,' issued a statement that World Press Photo's decision was 'deplorable and unprofessional' and 'reveals how low the organization has fallen.' Út, now 74, had a long career in photojournalism and received plaudits for decades for The Terror of War. In the wake of the recent announcements, Nguyen vows that one way or another the film, with new additions since Sundance, will be released this year — and expressed his own surprise at the reception The Stringer has received in the journalism community. This interview was done the day the World Press Report was released and has been edited for length and clarity. *** You've been busy. Bao Nguyen: Honestly, I don't ever want to be the center of the story. Why does the World Press Report matter? World Press is one of the leading voices in photojournalism and their investigation, as opposed to AP, was independent. AP was from what I gather an internal investigation looking at a former AP employee, And, I'm not a journalist by any stretch of the imagination, but … . Well, that's not true, but OK. For me, I'm observing the truth in a way, while Gary Knight, one of the main subjects of our film, is pursuing truth. There's that slight distinction. But World Press spoke to outside experts and forensics scientists to make their conclusion. They haven't changed or suspended a credit to a photographer [before] in their 70 year history, which is incredible. I applaud World Press for what they did and the evolution from what their executive director said when the film premiered at Sundance to their investigation since then. They're very thorough, and they essentially agreed with the forensics and the findings in our Press Photo executive director Joumana El Zein Khoury has written two pieces about The Stringer. In them, she admits her initial reaction after the Sundance screening was to come to a quick decision about the photo's authorship, but that she decided the organization should conduct a more thorough and thoughtful investigation. When Nghệ showed up at the screening, I wondered why this guy wasn't getting a bigger standing ovation. Have you been surprised by all the pushback that you've gotten? We were just happy that Nghệ could be there in his frail state. (Nghệ is in his late 80s). I can just tell you from speaking to him, it was a very emotional moment for him and the family and for him to be definitive in the Q & A and say, 'I took the photo,' which for me is bigger than any standing ovation. It is a unique experience when we're bringing on the subject [of a documentary]. We were surprising the audience, too. They didn't know he was there, and so I think it was still a very powerful moment and I wouldn't change it for the world. As for the debate over the attribution of the photo, we knew that it wasn't about relying on these institutions that have become the arbitrators of legacy and historical record for decades. It wasn't about waiting for them to bestow something to me as a filmmaker. It was about Nghệ. Having the chance to tell the world his truth and his story and his perspective on something that happened 53 years ago. To some extent it's not really the AP's story to tell. In a way, it kind of doesn't matter what they say. For me as a filmmaker, it was always, How do I listen to a story that someone has been telling within his own circles for so long, but never felt like they had the agency to stand up and, and say it publicly in a way that would be heard. Have you been surprised at the reception among journalists? I've been surprised by people's opinions towards something that they haven't watched, to be honest, especially among journalists. I grew up near Washington, D.C. I always dreamt of being a journalist and I wrote briefly for the NYU newspaper. I soon realized that I am bad at deadlines, and so I realized I wasn't the right person to be a journalist. I didn't have that intense attitude of going towards a story and getting that news very quickly. I think filmmaking fits my more reflective intention on life and storytelling. And, yeah, it surprised me that there were so many journalists who I've respected over decades that were angry that we asked the question — or that Gary Knight, Terri Lichstein and Lê Văn asked the question — of whether Nick Út was the person who took the photograph. I always felt that journalists were in the pursuit of truth. They're not necessarily the arbitrators of truth. But to ask the question, I think, is a key pillar of journalism, and so that surprised me — and again it surprised me that people who haven't watched the film made a judgment on the authorship. But you know, to be fair too, a lot of people who were adamant about Nick being the author are close friends of Nick or know Nick. Having a relationship with someone over decades, you would trust someone, right? I mean, you build that trust. I try to empathize and humanize that perspective as well. But I was surprised by the reaction from many journalists in that world. The other thing that you don't see in the news reports but you do see in the film is that Nghệ was probably the best trained photographer on the scene that day, and if you had to pick who was going to make a photo like that, he'd be a good candidate. When I learned that in the process of making the film, it definitely made me more firmly believe that Nghệ was the one who took the photograph. Is there any doubt in your mind who took it? I don't ever try to speak in absolutes. I truly do believe Nghệ is the one who took the photograph. A lawyer's job is to defend their client, but what do you think of Nick Út's lawyer's questioning of the documentary process, questioning the journalism? I've tried to stay away from those conversations and those debates. I think there's imperfections in the AP report, for example with the claim that everyone who is still alive from that day was interviewed in that report. Trần Văn Thân — the NBC sound person who, if you watch the film, was part of that cluster of journalists who could have taken the photograph — Thân was never interviewed in the AP report, and he is one of the living witnesses to that event. What's interesting from a filmmaker's perspective too, is that he was a sound person, and I think a lot of directors who work with really good sound people realize how much it's not just about listening. A great sound person has to watch, has to look, has to observe. So he was the most, probably the most observant person on that road, in that group of people. And he said he witnessed Nghệ taking the photograph. I find it strange that AP didn't interview him, especially as he is also one, if not the only, living Vietnamese witness, in addition to Nghệ, that could prove that Nghệ took the photograph. One of the themes of the film itself is that Vietnamese voices have been erased from the telling of this. Asked to comment specifically on whether the AP's investigation was done without bias and why Thân was not interviewed, Patrick Maks, the Director of Media Relations and Corporate Communications for The Associated Press, forwarded the statement issued with the release of the investigation. The statement says, in part: 'AP's extensive visual analysis, interviews with witnesses and examination of all available photos taken on June 8, 1972, show it is possible Ut took this picture. None of this material proves anyone else did. Our investigation has raised significant questions, which are outlined in the report, that we may never be able to answer. Fifty years have passed, many of the people involved are dead and technology has limitations. Maks also asked that links to the AP report, and an interactive feature be included in this article. How has the fight from Út's friends in journalism, and the threatened legal action, made it a challenge to find distribution? We are still in advanced negotiation for worldwide distribution. I think actually the debate and the conversation around the film makes it more relevant globally. It opens it up to audiences to kind of make the decision on their own. And I think that engages audiences in a much more complex way than having this sort of smoking-gun, definitive answer. I haven't been the one at the forefront of the negotiations about distribution, but I do think that [the debate] continues to push the film into the sphere of conversation. I can't tell you how many people have reached out to me asking to see the film from around the world. I mean, I made a film called Greatest Night in Pop [about the recording of the star-studded single 'We Are the World']. When I made that film, I also didn't think that the song 'We Are the World' had such a global reach, but it did. And this film, The Stringer, has an exponentially larger reach than I had ever imagined with Greatest Night in Pop. When might people be able to see it? We're in negotiations for worldwide distribution, and we expect to share the film this year with audiences around the world. For me, no matter what, this film is gonna be shared around the world this year because it's so important for me to share Nghệ's story. We got a message from Nghệ's's daughter today that Nghệ heard the news from World Press. He is in a frail state, but she shared to us that he felt a little better today. And that means a lot to me as someone who has been entrusted to be the custodian of his story. That gives me a bit of hope. Best of The Hollywood Reporter Hollywood's Most Notable Deaths of 2025 Harvey Weinstein's "Jane Doe 1" Victim Reveals Identity: "I'm Tired of Hiding" 'Awards Chatter' Podcast: 'Sopranos' Creator David Chase Finally Reveals What Happened to Tony (Exclusive)
Yahoo
26-01-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
The Explosive Secret Behind the Most Famous Photo in History
PARK CITY, Utah—'When you're shooting with film, there's always some mystery. But what you do know is what you didn't take.' So begins the bombshell documentary The Stringer, a voiceover that serves as a searing damnation of an alleged lie, a cover-up, and injustice that has gone on for over 50 years. It all involves what is widely considered to be the most important, impactful, and, as such, celebrated photograph ever taken. More specifically, who did—and who did not—take it. The iconic 'Napalm Girl' photo that was taken in Vietnam in 1972 is considered one of the most powerful images depicting the human toll of armed conflict that has ever been captured, redirecting the course of the Vietnam War when it was first published and resonating still today. According to detailed investigations recounted in The Stringer and the testimony of witnesses who were in the room when the fateful decision happened, Nick Út, the photographer credited with the image, did not take the photo. It's a potentially history-changing allegation. As such, the film and its claims are already the subject of controversy. In The Stringer, which premiered this weekend at the Sundance Film Festival, an Associated Press photo editor who shepherded the image's publishing confirms what is said to have been an open secret in certain circles of the industry: a local Vietnamese stringer had actually captured the image. That man was given $20 and a print of the photo as a keepsake. Út, on the other hand, won the Pulitzer Prize, and has spent the last 52 years basking in the glory and recognition of what is, the film convincingly argues, the work of another man—one who has spent his lifetime helpless to claim the credit he is may be due. (The Associated Press remains steadfast that there is no evidence that Út did not take the photo. You can read the AP's full statement on The Stringer, its accusations, and production process here. Út, who is now 73 years old and retired, did not respond to requests to be interviewed for the film.) 'Napalm Girl' is the haunting image taken seconds after a chemical attack was dropped on civilians in the southeast Vietnam area of Trảng Bàng, A group of children is captured running, screaming down the main road as smoke billows in the background behind them. In the center of the photo is nine-year-old Kim Phúc, naked with her arms outstretched as her flesh is burning and she wails in pain and distress. Within 24 hours of its publishing, it's estimated that 1 billion people had seen the image. It was in 2010 when Gary Knight, the executive director of non-profit VII Foundation, first heard that Út's authorship of the photo was 'questionable.' Every attempt at confirming this rumor was stonewalled. That is, until an email from a whistleblower arrived in 2022, spurning the two-year investigation captured by director Bao Nguyen in The Stringer. Carl Robinson wrote Knight explaining that he was the AP photo editor who wrote the caption crediting Út as the image's photographer. He also says that he was in the office as film was sent for processing from Út and two other stringers who were shooting in Trảng Bàng that day. Horst Faas, the director of the AP's photo bureau in Saigon, selected the graphic image to send to presses and, according to Robinson, made the decision to credit Út, who was on staff, instead of the stringer Robinson says actually took the photo. There are numerous theories for why this happened that are laid out throughout The Stringer. One is that this was common practice at the time, to credit staff over local stringers. Another is that Faas felt loyalty to Út, whose brother was also a photographer who died in service. A memo that Faas once wrote hinted at an unofficial policy not to credit the local Vietnamese stringers because of their 'weird' names. And, of course, the AP and Út's supporters are vehement that Út was credited because he did, in fact, take the photo. As for why Robinson didn't simply say 'no' when Faas allegedly made this request, and why he hasn't spoken out until now? 'I've struggled with that for the rest of my life,' he says. What unfolds in The Stringer is a scandalous and potentially consequential examination of justice that could, given the renown of the 'Napalm Girl' photo, alter a perception of history and journalism's role in not just documenting, but influencing it. 'If this is true,' Knight says about the allegations, 'is there a greater conspiracy in photojournalism?' Questions of morality, justice, and truth are raised, while a harsh spotlight is put on and condemns the once-and-current common practice of taking advantage of stringers—one with undeniable roots in racism. The Stringer is also an exercise in journalism itself, as the man believed to be the rightful photographer is tracked down after five decades of anonymity. It's emotional to watch as Nguyen Thanh Nghe learns that the film crew has discovered his identity and aims to finally tell the truth. 'That photo is mine,' he says. His family has spent all of this time living with the pain that Nghe had been erased from his contribution to history. It was seven months after the photo had reached widespread acclaim before Nghe even realized it had been published. His wife had thrown out the print he had been given when the AP purchased it, and with it, his only proof that he was the photographer. Beyond the anecdotal claims made by Nghe, his family, Robinson, and other photographers who say they were aware of the misattribution, The Stringer provides forensic evidence. There's a sequence in which experts use the full library of photos and footage from that day in 1972 to map out and then animate the reality that Út almost irrefutably could not have taken the photo, using documentation of where Út was on the road in at various times images of Kim Phúc were captured in Trảng Bàng. Moreover, it makes the persuasive case that Nghe was in the exact position at the exact right time a photographer would need to be to capture the moment. It's as explosive of a revelation as I've seen in a documentary in a long time. What's set to follow is likely to be a protracted legal battle between the Associated Press and the filmmakers, of which Vanity Fair lays out the specifics. That underlines a messiness behind the film that could serve as a roadblock to what should be a headline-making claim about the provenance of the most famous photo in history: filmmakers were unable to get the AP or Út to admit that Nghe took the photo. The Stringer covers its bases as best it can in that regard, exhaustively showing its research and including just about every interview it could with people who could corroborate its claim. That diligence bolsters the film's case, of course, but delays what you crave: the gotcha moment that would convert the allegations into actual, gratifying justice. That may yet come, as the film's rollout sparks what are sure-to-be intense conversations about the photo's provenance. In a public note, Knight lays out that mission. 'There is an old adage that journalism is 'the first draft of history,'' he writes. 'Sometimes it takes a second draft to set the record straight.'
