The story of Bao Nguyen’s intense documentary is very complex and compelling. The most unbelievable aspect might be that it stayed in the dark for so long. For more than 50 years, the case of misattributed authorship unraveled by the Vietnamese-American director in his third work at Sundance was only known to a handful of people. One of them is a Pulitzer Price winning photographer renowned for one of the most shocking and influential depictions of war. Another one is the titular character, a freelance photographer whose name was erased both from the print credit of the image in question and the records of world history. Finally, there is the former AP photo editor Carl Robinson, who wrongly credited the photograph in the Saigon office.

This iconic image is widely known as Napalm Girl – officially it is titled The Terror of War – and shows nine-year-old Phan Thi Kim Phuc, crying and naked, heavily burned from a Napalm attack by US planes, running with outstretched arms towards the camera. The moment is deeply embedded in the collective memory of humanity, and often counted as one the most influential press photos of all time. The film supports the theory that stringer (freelance journalist) Nguyen Thanh Nghe is the real author of the image, and not widely credited AP photographer Nick Út.

Who was really behind that camera? Nguyen tackles this question with a focus on consistency, backed-up facts and first-hand accounts. An e-mail from 80-year-old Robinson to photojournalist Gary Knight sets off the investigation. Knight works for the VII Foundation, an organisation supporting with press freedom. Robinson is visibly haunted by his alleged complicity in the cover-up. Robinson explains that he did not disclose his knowledge at the time because he was afraid to lose his job. His confession is both depressing and relatable, particularly to those who have worked in a subordinate position.re Nghe allegedly earned just US$20 and a print copy of his picture in exchange for his work. Knight paints Út in a relatively sympathetic light, pointing out that he did not plan for any of this to happen.

The images of Út basking in the fame of his questionable heroics convey a slightly different message, of a far less dignified man. He even sued the documentary team, hellbent on supressing the allegations. Nghe suffered a stroke the first time the story was about to come out, a few years ago. This put a spanner in the investigations. The filmmaker’s argument is strong, relying on historical documents, bona fide witnesses, and a CGI reenactment of the moment the photo was taken. Nghe’s encounter with Robinson is a deeply touching moment, and also the movie’s climax. That’s when one historic event evolves into another.

AP released a statement ahead of the film premiere, disputing the allegations and disclosing their own painstaking investigation. It will be up to future research into this challenging case to determine which narrative is true. There is a chance one might never know for sure. All the same, Nguyen’s film is a gripping account of a historical event, as well as a riff on underprivileged workers in the Global South. It successfully portrays the transformative power of media, while also being one such example. It is also a call for journalist ethics, and a reminder that it can take a long time for the real facts to surface.

The Stringer just premiered at the Sundance Film Festival.