It is a photo you have probably seen once and then immediately tried to forget. A man, perfectly vertical, diving headfirst against the backdrop of the North Tower’s steel lattice. He looks strangely calm. He isn’t flailing. In that split second captured by Richard Drew, he looks like he’s flying. But we all know he wasn't. The Falling Man documentary tackles the heavy, almost unbearable weight of that single image, and honestly, it’s one of the most difficult pieces of filmmaking you will ever sit through.
Most people don't want to look. Even back in 2001, when The New York Times ran the photo on page seven, the backlash was swift and furious. People called it "disturbing," "exploitative," and "voyeuristic." So, the media buried it. They tucked it away in the archives because the reality it represented—that some people on 9/11 were forced to choose how they died—was too much for the national psyche to handle at the time. This documentary, directed by Henry Singer and narrated by Steven Mackintosh, isn't just about the mechanics of a camera shutter. It’s about the soul of a tragedy and our collective refusal to acknowledge the "jumpers."
The Man Behind the Lens and the Man in the Air
Richard Drew was an Associated Press photographer who had seen everything. He was there when RFK was assassinated. He wasn't some rookie looking for a "money shot." On the morning of September 11, he was at a maternity fashion show when he got the call. He headed toward the towers, and like a true pro, he just started shooting. He didn't even realize he had "The Falling Man" until he was back at the office looking at his frames. Out of a sequence of several shots where the man is tumbling, this one frame—frame number nine—shows him perfectly aligned with the building’s vertical columns.
It's a mathematical fluke of a photo.
The documentary does a brilliant job of explaining the technicality of that moment without losing the humanity. You see, the "Falling Man" wasn't actually falling straight down like an arrow the whole time. He was spinning. He was struggling. But in that one-thousandth of a second, he looked composed. It’s that composition that makes the image so haunting. It turns a violent death into a quiet, almost meditative state of being.
Why we hated the photo
America wanted heroes on September 12. We wanted stories of firemen charging up stairs and office workers helping each other down. We didn't want to talk about the estimated 200 people who fell or jumped. Why? Because it felt like a defeat. There was this weird, unspoken stigma—even a religious one—that jumping was "suicide," and in many cultures and faiths, suicide is a sin.
The documentary pushes back on this hard. It asks: Is it really suicide if the alternative is being burned alive or crushed by a collapsing skyscraper? Or is it simply taking control of your final ten seconds?
The Search for an Identity
A huge chunk of the documentary follows the investigative work of Tom Junod, whose Esquire article originally brought the photo back into the public eye in 2003. He wanted to give the man a name. He felt that leaving him anonymous was its own kind of tragedy.
First, there was Norberto Hernandez.
The film shows the gut-wrenching moment his family is confronted with the photo. His daughter is adamant. "That's not my father," she says. You can see the pain in her eyes—not just the pain of loss, but the pain of the perceived shame. She didn't want her father remembered as the man who "gave up." It’s a brutal look at how grief complicates our relationship with the truth. Eventually, the evidence for Norberto didn't hold up. The clothes didn't quite match. The family's denial was respected.
Then, the search turned to Jonathan Briley.
The Case for Jonathan Briley
Jonathan was a 43-year-old audio technician who worked at Windows on the World, the restaurant at the top of the North Tower. His brother, Timothy, and his sister, Gwendolyn, are interviewed in the film. Unlike the Hernandez family, the Brileys approached the possibility with a heartbreaking level of grace.
They looked at his stature. They looked at the orange undershirt he often wore—a shirt Jonathan’s wife, Hillary, remembered him wearing that morning. In the documentary, Gwendolyn says something that sticks with you: "When I first looked at the picture... I thought, 'That could be Jonathan.'" She didn't see it as a sign of weakness. She saw it as a man who was always in control of his life making one last, desperate decision.
Is it 100% confirmed? No. The Chief Medical Examiner's office never officially identified any "jumpers" by their fall. They were all ruled homicides by the hijackers. But the documentary makes a compelling case that Jonathan Briley is the man in the frame. Even if he isn't, he represents all of them.
The Cultural Silence
We have to talk about why this documentary was even necessary. For years, the footage of people falling was edited out of anniversary broadcasts. It was sanitized. We turned 9/11 into a story of resilience and "Never Forget," but we chose to forget the most harrowing part of the experience for those trapped above the impact zone.
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The Falling Man documentary forces us to confront our own cowardice. We didn't want to look because it reminded us of our own helplessness. If a person as tall and strong as Jonathan Briley could be forced into that position, what does that mean for the rest of us?
The film uses slow-motion sequences and a very minimalist score to keep the focus on the ethics of the image. It’s not a "true crime" vibe. It’s an existential inquiry. You’ve got experts like Junod and various historians discussing the "theology" of the fall. It’s deep stuff. It’s not just "hey, look at this scary thing." It asks what we owe to the victims in terms of witnessing their full reality, not just the parts that make us feel patriotic.
Why it still feels relevant in 2026
You’d think after twenty-plus years, the shock would wear off. It hasn't. In an era where we are constantly bombarded with graphic imagery on social media, "The Falling Man" remains different. It’s not "gore." There is no blood in the photo. There is no impact. It is just a man in mid-air.
Because we live in a world that is increasingly polarized and full of "fake news," the raw, undeniable truth of this documentary is a gut-check. It reminds us that history isn't just what the government or the media wants us to remember. History is what actually happened to real people with orange undershirts and families who loved them.
Key Insights for Viewers
If you are planning to watch this, or if you are researching it for an essay or a project, keep these points in mind:
- The Power of Narrative: Notice how the film shifts from the photographer's perspective to the journalist's perspective, and finally to the families'. It’s a lesson in how stories are built.
- The Ethics of Imagery: Think about the "Right to be Forgotten" versus the historical record. Does a person have a right to die in private, even in a massive public event?
- The Psychological Impact: The film discusses "Secondary Trauma" for those who watched the events unfold. It’s a real thing.
Actionable Steps for Further Understanding
If this topic resonates with you, don't just stop at the documentary. Here is how to get a fuller picture:
- Read the original Esquire article: Tom Junod’s "The Falling Man" is widely considered one of the greatest pieces of magazine journalism ever written. It provides context the film simply can't fit into a runtime.
- Research the "Jumpers" controversy: Look into the official 9/11 Commission Report and how they handled the victims who fell. It reveals a lot about the political climate of the early 2000s.
- Explore Richard Drew's portfolio: Understanding his other work helps you see that he wasn't a paparazzi; he was a witness.
- Visit the 9/11 Memorial & Museum: They have a very specific way of handling the "falling" aspect of the day. It’s worth seeing how they chose to curate that pain for future generations.
The documentary doesn't give us a happy ending. It doesn't even give us a 100% certain ID of the man. What it gives us is a mirror. When we look at that man in the air, we aren't just seeing a victim of a terrorist attack. We are seeing the limits of human endurance and the terrifying reality of a choice no one should ever have to make. Honestly, it’s a masterclass in empathy. Use it as a starting point to think about how we honor victims of any tragedy—not by cleaning up their stories, but by telling the whole, messy, heartbreaking truth.