For as long as humans have had the ability to take photographs, images of protests have been among our most enduring. Tiananmen Square. Thích Quảng Đức. A Birmingham police officer unleashing an attack dog on 15-year-old protestor Walter Gadsden. Filmmakers have also made powerful use of this imagery. From The Battle of Algiers and Medium Cool to the more recent Civil War, scenes of citizens rising up against their government reflect a righteous anger in our spirit. These images titillate and terrify us at once, offering a path toward revolt that we may not have previously seen so clearly.

That’s part of what makes the events of January 6, 2021, so confusing. The insurrectionists who broke into the U.S. Capitol that day believed they were on the right side of history, but most Americans saw only a criminally violent attempt to subvert our democracy. The confusion was traumatizing to our nation, but psychiatrists will tell you the best way to process a traumatic event is to reexperience it in a safe environment. Like a shrink’s office. Or maybe a movie theater. 

The Sixth, a gripping documentary about the events of that tragic day, gives viewers that safe space. It shows us thrilling, often gruesome images of a violent insurrection. It makes room for those who were directly affected by it to share their stories and continue the healing process. It lays out the causes and effects of this tragedy as clear as day. In this era, no images are incontrovertible, but those in The Sixth comes as close as any can.

Eschewing the news clips through which we originally experienced the event, filmmakers Andrea Nix and Sean Fine, the couple behind the D.C.-based production company Change Content that coproduced The Sixth with A24, instead weave together police body camera footage, videos and photos from a citizen journalist, and after-the-fact interviews with a diverse corps of traumatized individuals who were present on the day. Among them are Maryland Rep. Jamie Raskin, who buried his son a day earlier, and brought his daughter and son-in-law to the Capitol to watch the certification of the presidential vote; Mel D. Cole, a freelance photographer who embedded himself with the mob of insurrectionists; and Erica Loewe, a Congressional staffer who started the day filled with hope for the future and ended it barricaded into her boss’ office fearing for her life. These interviews show the human cost of the insurrection and the long tail of trauma. Two years later, each subject is still grappling with what they saw and experienced, either fighting back tears or trapped within themselves.

In cinematic terms, The Sixth is a Paul Greengrass-esque movie, such as United 93 or Captain Phillips, that immerses us in an escalating crisis and never lets us go. Much of the footage in the film is taken from within the mob. Or maybe it’s found footage horror with a touch of Lynchian surrealism. There’s the midwestern woman who, while sporting an ear-to-ear grin, tells us that she is happy to die for her country as if she’s rooting for her favorite football team. We see a man dressed in a suit made of American flags and wearing a full bald eagle head over his own. This is the stuff of nightmares. Even more horrifying is how the crowd co-opts the language of the Civil Rights movement. “Whose streets? Our streets!” they chant as they make their way to the Capitol. “I can’t breathe! I can’t breathe!” they shout, echoing the final words of Eric Garner. The shameless, unexamined hypocrisy would be too absurd to believe if we didn’t have a movie to prove it.

For some, the movie never ends. Perhaps most affecting is the interview with Capitol Police officer Daniel Hodges, who was seen, in footage widely circulated in the days after the attack, trapped in a doorway and screaming out for help. Hodges calmly retraces his movements on that day, offering a boots-on-the-ground view of every terrifying step toward tragedy. On the surface, he seems fine, but his voice seems constantly on the verge of breaking and his timbre is suspiciously flat. Juxtaposing his cries for help, which the film replays for us, with his measured recollection makes for a powerful collision that emblemizes how we have all buried our emotions emanating from this tragedy in order to forget, process, or simply continue to live our lives.

While The Sixth forces us to confront an awful chapter of U.S. history, it also serves the important function of simply documenting what occurred. We still need that. The primary source footage that makes up so much of The Sixth should lay to rest claims from the idiots among us that the insurrection was simply a peaceful protest that got out of hand. Many Americans have learned to ignore their own eyes, but we mercifully have the footage to make them look like fools or worse. This is the power of the documentary form. Never again must we forget our own nightmares. Especially when they come true.

The Sixth (106 minutes) is now available for purchase on all major streaming platforms; the film will be available to rent on May 10. changecontent.com.