Christopher Nolan’s gone fission
Oppenheimer doesn’t simply recount history; it drags you into the very nucleus of moral ambiguity, where every atom of choice splits into countless ethical dilemmas. Christopher Nolan, ever the architect of intricate narratives, meticulously crafts a film that mirrors the complexity of its central figure, J Robert Oppenheimer, played with a haunting precision by Cillian Murphy. As you’re pulled into the fractured mind of the man who gave birth to the atomic age, it becomes clear that this is not merely a biopic—it’s a dissection of the human condition under the weight of unimaginable consequence.
Now, I’ll admit that the first time I saw Nolan’s latest monument to his own ego (seriously, the trailers for this film seemed to last for an entire year and yet the only reason it made such a box office splash was due to a brightly coloured plastic doll), my overriding thought for the first hour or so was “come on, Christopher. You can’t just splice some gratuitous tits and kitchen-sink fornication into your forensic docudrama and call it a movie” but as Oppenheimer unfolded, I found myself nonetheless gripped by the events on screen. I still think, however, that there’s a stunning six-hour documentary series in there, truncated – with some skill, admittedly – into a three-hour feature film.
Oppenheimer unfolds with the measured, methodical pace of a slow-burn thriller, though don’t expect the usual Nolan spectacle of stylistically explosive action. Well, stylistic action for sure. Explosives you can expect. I mean, if we can’t expect explosions, I’m not sure what Los Alamos is for? Instead, the narrative is woven through a series of timelines that reflect the fractured, often disjointed psyche of its protagonist, as well as Nolan’s increasing fondness for non-linear storytelling. Here, though, Nolan’s structural shenanigans are much stronger thematically than in Tenet where they were barely more than a MacGuffin. The parallel timelines of the pre- and post- Trinity Test detonation intertwine throughout the film, the stark use of Black and White contrasting with the colour to hammer home the duality of Oppenheimer’s actions: creation and destruction, triumph and disaster, the bringing of peace and the destroyer of worlds.
Nolan’s script is as dense as the uranium cores being discussed within the film, layered with dialogue that buzzes with intellectual rigor and philosophical debate. It’s a narrative that demands your attention, challenging you to keep up with its rapid shifts between moments of scientific triumph and the shadows of impending doom. The film doesn’t spoon-feed you answers, but rather invites you to wrestle with the same moral quagmires that plagued Oppenheimer himself. Are the sacrifices made in the name of progress justifiable? Or are they simply the machinations of men too consumed by their own hubris to see the devastation they leave in their wake? Murphy’s portrayal of Oppenheimer is a masterclass in subtlety. To watch his performance is to watch a man slowly unravel while desperately trying to keep the loose ends from slipping through his fingers. You see a mind that’s both brilliant and burdened, as Murphy brings to life a man grappling with the duality of being both creator and destroyer, while powerless to change either of those fates.
Visually, the film is a marvel, but not in the way one might expect from Nolan. There’s a starkness to the cinematography, a kind of cold precision that mirrors the clinical nature of the science being explored. The Trinity test sequence, shot with practical effects, is a moment of breathtaking intensity—an explosion not just of energy, but of the very soul of the film. You feel the weight of that moment, the world holding its breath as the bomb detonates, knowing that history itself has just been irrevocably altered. The use of IMAX cameras adds to the immersive experience, placing you right at the heart of the action—or inaction, as the case may be, since much of the film is driven by conversation rather than spectacle.
Nolan’s choice to structure the film non-linearly allows for a deeper exploration of Oppenheimer’s character. It’s a narrative choice that mirrors the man’s own fragmented reality, as he navigates the labyrinth of political intrigue, personal betrayal, and the ethical implications of his work. Emily Blunt as Kitty Oppenheimer, though initially understated, becomes a force of emotional resilience, particularly in scenes where her character confronts the societal and personal repercussions of her husband’s work. Blunt captures Kitty’s inner strength and vulnerability, offering a nuanced portrayal that enhances the film’s emotional depth.
Matt Damon’s portrayal of General Leslie Groves offers a counterbalance to Oppenheimer’s internal turmoil, his no-nonsense military demeanour adding a layer of tension to the already fraught atmosphere of the Manhattan Project. Florence Pugh’s Jean Tatlock, while not heavily featured, leaves a lasting impression, her scenes with Murphy brimming with a quiet intensity that speaks to the complexities of Oppenheimer’s personal life. Then there’s Robert Downey Jr., whose portrayal of Lewis Strauss is nothing short of masterful. Downey’s Strauss is a man of sharp intellect and simmering resentments, and his interactions with Oppenheimer are some of the film’s most charged moments, adding a layer of political intrigue that elevates the narrative.
Yet, for all its brilliance, Oppenheimer is not without its challenges. The dialogue, thick with scientific and political jargon, can be as impenetrable as the lead shielding used to protect the scientists from radiation. It’s a film that requires more than just passive viewing; it demands engagement, perhaps more than some viewers are willing to give to a feature film, bringing us back to the lingering sense that in gaining an Oscar winning movie, we’ve lost a fascinatingly in-depth documentary series.
When placed alongside Nolan’s previous works, Oppenheimer expands his oeuvre in a unique way eschewing the kinetic energy of Inception or The Dark Knight and the temporal machinations of Tenet. Instead, it’s a far more introspective piece, offering a stark counterpoint to the exuberance of Interstellar. Where Interstellar is a hymnal to science’s potential to save humankind, Oppenheimer is a treatise on one man’s realisation that his life’s work may well doom us all to destruction.
Despite its runtimes and occasional indulgences, Oppenheimer lingers in the mind long after the credits roll, a movie that affects a permanent change in your mind’s background cinematic radiation. It asks difficult questions, not just of its characters, but of its audience, bringing the devastating reality of nuclear Armageddon into sharp focus after too long spent in a bizarrely complacent post-Cold War hazy nostalgia. As we stand on the brink of a potential AI revolution – a technological advancement with the potential for unprecedented change – the film’s exploration of ethical responsibility and institutional disingenuity feels more urgent than ever. Oppenheimer himself may have been uncertain of the legacy he left behind, but Nolan’s film leaves little doubt: this is a story that demands to be retold, and one that we ignore at our peril, even if it does need an assist from Barbie to make the kind of cultural impact it deserves.
