In the unabating lead-up to the detonation of the world’s primordial atomic bomb, Oppenheimer and Groves share a tense exchange over the minuscule, near-zero possibility of this explosion triggering an uncontrolled, unstoppable chain reaction that ignites the atmosphere. Oppenheimer deems it too fringe an outcome to warrant much debate, echoing his peers that theory will only take him so far. But the usually composed Groves sounds concerned, preferring to eradicate even this sliver of a chance. So when the bomb does go off without any such cataclysmic reaction, the crowd of scientists, physicists and generals are jubilant as they stare at the mushroom cloud of nuclear smoke. And just as he revels in the glory of his accomplishment, Oppenheimer, cognizant of the weapon of mass-destruction he has let loose upon the world, ruminates his oft-quoted verse from the Bhagwad Gita.
Now I am become death, the Destroyer of Worlds.
Any other biopic would have chosen to culminate its story at this seminal moment in Oppenheimer’s history, never mind its historical accuracy (the famed line is actually quoted many years later in a televised interview). But an ordinary, conventional biopic this is not. While the Trinity Test remains an unmistakably pivotal moment in Christopher Nolan’s Oppenheimer, ratcheting up tension worthy of many-a-film’s climax, it’s not the singular moment this story rests on. Instead, it ferociously hops between the event, its aftermath, and the fate of the perpetrator who brought upon the said aftermath, long after Oppie’s early days have been covered. Like the three-headed god on whom the test was named, these three events dominate much of Oppenheimer’s life, encompassing a 3-hour running time.
The movie covers three key milestones in Oppenheimer’s life. The first of these is the Manhattan Project, a top-secret initiative that involved setting up a secret laboratory in Los Alamos to build the first atomic bomb in the United States in a feverish race against the Nazis, with Oppenheimer serving as the project’s director. The second is the 1954 hearings in which Oppenheimer’s security clearance gets revoked on suspicions of Communist links and Soviet ties. And finally, the third is the 1959 hearing of Lewis J. Strauss in which his nomination to President Eisenhower’s senate was refused in the first such denial of its kind, as revelations of his role in stripping Oppenheimer’s security clearance surfaced. Nolan often switches between all three narratives to draw parallels, which keep the proceedings engaging and fast-paced for a film mostly laden with drama.
The movie covers a lot of ground without skipping a beat. Based on American Prometheus: The Triumph and Tragedy of J. Robert Oppenheimer, the extensively researched book by Kai Bird and Martin J. Sherwin that was 25 years in the making and chronicles Oppenheimer’s life from a child to his death, the screenplay is dense and does a terrific job touching upon the book’s key moments. Nolan drives the narrative through two major perspectives, using subjective and objective points of view to portray events from the perspectives of J. Robert Oppenheimer and Lewis L. Strauss, chairman of the Atomic Energy Commission (AEC). The subjective bits, named Fission, are filmed in color, whereas the objective bits, titled Fusion, are black-and-white. In a literal sense, the titles allude to the reactions at the genesis of the plutonium and hydrogen bombs whose developments govern the respective events. Metaphorically though, they represent Oppenheimer’s successes and failures, with the Trinity Test putting him on the map (and the cover of Time) and the Security Hearings bringing him down (and putting his archnemesis on Time instead). Both sections occassionally overlap, their intersections providing audiences the opportunity to experience some events from differing perspectives.
Perspectives, in fact, play a vital role in framing Nolan’s characters. For the self-absorbed Strauss, the entire world seems to revolve around him. He takes Oppenheimer’s remarks, jabs, and cold shoulders to heart, theorizing in his head that Oppie poisoned the minds of Einstein and other scientists against him, ruining his image. In Oppenheimer’s blunt opinions on isotopes, he sees public humiliation. And Oppie’s outright snub of his family after a celebration Stauss seething. Strauss’ grudge gradually expands to nuclear levels, until it explodes, taking Oppenheimer down. Ultimately, much of his actions are triggered by a personal vendetta, even though Strauss wouldn’t admit it as much, believing himself to be a hero acting in the interest of national security. And yet, this hero operates behind the shadows in an effort to conceal his role in the 1954 hearings. In his own words, “Amateurs chase the sun and get burned. Power stays in the shadows”. Oppenheimer on the other hand remains inward-focused. He compensates for the ineptness at the practical aspect of physics by visualizing a whole world internally, which Nolan depicts through a series of chemical reactions and explosions occuring in his vivid imagination.
Despite switching between these two perspectives, Nolan rarely offers his own and chooses to take a largely objective stance towards the source material. In painting Oppenheimer’s life, he restrains from passing any judgement by leaning towards one side or another, choosing to show him as is, with his flourishes and flaws. This includes highlighting his victories in successfully leading a complex project and voicing concerns against nuclear armament, as well as his blemishes, including his failed / semi-successful relationships with Communist member Jean Tatlock and his wife Katherine “Kitty” Oppenheimer, hinting at his much-rumored affair with Ruth Coleman, or his troubles connecting to his child as he offers his son Peter to the Chevaliers, willing to part ways with him for good. Nolan avoids painting him as a hero or a martyr, victimizing him where needed, but also showing him baring his soul and being naked in front of the hearing committee (quite literally). His polarity births some fascinating paradoxes; while Robert is inherently aware and even proud of the monstrosity he’s unleashed, he vehemently opposes the arms race that he’s inadvertently kicked off. And yet, he borderline gloats about developing the bomb, dropping it in Japan, and expressing a morose regret that they were unable to have it ready on time to drop it on Nazi Germany. The end result is a movie that leaves you conflicted about your thoughts on Oppenheimer himself, admiring his ingenuities and admonishing his inadequacies.
Eventually, Oppenheimer remains a human story and it’s telling just how many key decisions boiled down to being executed by people. The most telling of these is a room full of government officials and scientists shortlisting Japanese cities to drop the first two bombs on. Despite the fall of Nazi Germany and whispers of Japan almost on its knees, the unwillingness of Axis powers to surrender to the Allied forces remains a tantalizing possibility. Secretary of War Henry Stimson insists excluding Kyoto due to its cultural significance, before casually revealing that he honeymooned there and liked the place. It’s a lighthearted moment without context, but the banter assumes a cruel significance when one realizes that the fates of over 100,000 people were sealed in that boardroom-esque meeting amidst quips like these. Nolan also makes the artistic choice of not leaving our characters and seeing the world around them, denying us any external perspectives to cloud our biases, giving us little context about any happenings on other parts of the world. We’re confined to Oppenheimer’s worldview in which these officials take decisions based on their own intel, and that perspective is all we have.
The screenplay, adapted by Nolan himself, remains faithful to its source material, almost to a fault. Unlike films that revel in taking creative liberties, Nolan’s script hurtles steadfastedly towards its conclusion without twisting any key facts to suit his agenda. He also refrains from the cardinal sin of combining characters of historical significance, resulting in an expanded roster of scientists, officials, and physicists. While this does result in some well-known names landing scaled-down and largely non-speaking parts such as Rami Malek or Jack Quaid, it also ensures that you walk away with a face to attach to every prominent name. The ensemble nature of its cast and the sheer number of characters notwithstanding, this is more drama than spectacle. Audience members expecting big-screen IMAX-filmed Hiroshima or Nagasaki explosions will be disappointed. But the point isn’t to capitalize on a tragedy by turning it into a visual feast; there’s nothing glorious about those events. The movie stresses on the post-nuclear horrors and its aftermath, which Oppie evidently experiences when he delivers his victory speech. The first bombs may have dropped on Japan, but the resulting arms race it unleashes ignites a terror in Oppenheimer’s mind and sparks a fear for the safety of his fellow Americans. Everything else fades into a blur.
Nolan’s screenplay is buttressed by a high-caliber technical team. Cinematographer Hoyte van Hoytema employs IMAX photography in filming what is essentially a courtroom drama to chilling effect, letting us sink into detailed character close-ups in a tall aspect ratio spliced with IMAX footage, their expressionist faces no less than a landscape or a canvas. Composer Ludwig Gorranson’s violins toggle between haunting and humane, his score becoming a character in itself as it rarely leaves the movie’s side, often overpowering its dialogue. Explosions are seen first, heard later, as the sound arrives delayed, further amping up the tension. Astonishingly, Nolan avoids using CGI entirely, creating the Trinity Test explosion by fusing forced perspectives with miniatures (or bigiatures, as the crew dubbed it). The results are mixed: the mushroom cloud appears underwhelming, but real. Production Designer Ruth De Jong recreates Los Alamos in a barren desert to tactile effect that, combined with the 70mm footage, really transport us to that locale and era. Editor Jennifer Lame has the hardest role perhaps in gluing the proceedings together, using parallel narrative threads or associations to create a coherent structure that links multiple timelines together. She largely succeeds in keeping the momentum flowing without losing the pace, while also allowing us to track and follow the film’s central characters.
Casting A-listers helps Nolan elicitate some pretty strong performances. Matt Damon is in his element, taut and precise as ever, holding a commanding presence that captures the spirit, demeanor, and conduct of General Leslie Groves. Emily Blunt plays Kitty with a lot of worldly wisdom and a troubled past that the movie largely skips, constantly encouraging Oppie to fight, until she sticks it back herself in a laudable moment. Florence Pugh, Bernie Safdie, and Josh Hartnett slip in their parts with effortless ease while Jason Clarke is as ruthless and cunning as Roger Robb as the book made him out to be. Robert Downey Jr. plays the often petty, self-absorbed, vengeful Strauss with a streak of vindictiveness that borders on being deliciously evil, without crossing over that line. Undoubtedly, it’s Cillian Murphy who carries the film as the titular physicist, his blue, glaring eyes, meek frame, and unmistaken devotion result in a most compelling portrayal. His performance is devoid of the luxury of cheating, due in part to the large hi-res IMAX cameras capturing his frame, exposing every twitch, blink or muscle movement.
Oppenheimer’s life plays out as a series of chain reactions, with one event fueling the other. His Jewish origins nudge him to respond to Germany’s atrocities and eventually push him to contribute to the war in a manner he knows best: through his contributions in physics. In doing his part, he ends up creating the ultimate weapon of mass destruction and the resulting guilt engulfs and consumes him, propelling his urge to prevent an arms race for similar weapons from kicking off. His subsequent efforts to call for establishing nuclear control and embracing candor with the Soviets coupled with his vocal stance against nuclear weapons in general ultimately leads to the government revoking his security clearance in a humiliating hearing. Lauded as a Prometheus for handing fire to the American, his triumphs culminate in a tragedy.
Eons ago, Christopher Nolan wrote a Howard Hughes biopic with Jim Carrey in mind, before Martin Scorsese beat him to it with 2004’s The Aviator. The world in general, and Nolan’s fandom in particular yearned for that project to see the light of the day. But Nolan waited, held off on that script and chiseled his skills by tackling more commercial fare, before giving serious cinema a shot. The success of Dunkirk probably convinced him that he’s ready, propelling him towards embarking on his career’s biggest challenge yet. In many ways then, this feels like the culmination of Nolan’s many films, and their convergence into something special. In doing so, Nolan accelerates inventive and experimental filmmaking, delivering a biopic unlike any seen before. Excelling at every level imaginable, Oppenheimer is a exemplary piece of filmmaking from an auteur director who is absolutely at the top of his game, and will hopefully earn him his much coveted and long deserved Oscar.
