The perpetrators of prisoner abuse at Abu Ghraib display hard-done-by attitudes that are almost as hard to stomach as the photographs themselves. But does that make them guilty as charged?

Jeremy Sivitz claims to have gone along with the dominant culture because he was “a nice guy” – and remains bitter that his virtue has resulted in dishonourable discharge. Lynndie England takes a soap opera defence: she was “in love” with scary Specialist Charles Graner and wanted to impress him. (Graner’s is the missing testimony in Errol Morris‘ film: he is still in prison, and was not permitted to participate.) Sabrina Harman, who jumped up and down on a pile of naked Iraqi detainees and posed smilingly next to the corpse of a man murdered in custody, claims that she would act no differently given her time again.

Many viewers may not share Morris’ empathy with these individuals, who tell their stories here for the first time. But Morris’ position, as expressed recently at the Tribeca Film Festival, is that “They’re angry! The people who knew everything about this and who were involved with this have never been held accountable! And it goes all the way to the top!”

The big grins – the undeniable sadistic enjoyment – remain tough to defend. And yet the impact of the photos operates as a diversion tactic: we ascribe responsibility to the low-ranking soldiers in the pictures, even though the whole point of low-ranking soldiers is that they act according to instruction from on high. The photos are a smokescreen; they misdirect our disgust.

Morris, one of the great deployers of high-impact presentation effects, certainly knows the force that images can have. With a big score by Danny Elfman, and flamboyant dramatic reconstructions as well as Morris’ trademark face-on long-form interviews, Standard Operating Procedure elevates itself from sombre issue doc to heavy-hitting blockbuster. This is a document for our times: a film to which it is simply impossible to remain indifferent.