Jonah Naplan July 20, 2023
All “three hours and nine seconds” of Christopher Nolan’s “Oppenheimer” terraform in a plethora of directions around the title character at its center: a man who’s hungry to create what became his greatest contribution to society—a weapon that could destroy it.
Some write novels, other make movies, a select few become politicians, the majority of us do nothing. This man, however, created the first atomic bomb, the same weapon of mass destruction that was dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki in 1945. His name was J. Robert Oppenheimer, a New Yorker who arose from humble beginnings as a quantum physicist and went on to become the director of the Los Alamos Laboratory, the organization responsible for the manufacturing and testing of the first bomb in the New Mexico desert. This movement was called The Manhattan Project, and not only was it detrimental to the outcome of World War II, but—as this film takes pains to convey—its aftermath greatly affected Oppenheimer’s personal and professional life long after the bomb went boom.
No, this man was not seen by everyone as a hero. The American Prometheus was at first met with the brouhaha jingoism you’d expect, but he was later indicted for accusations of being a communist and a Soviet spy. His main opposer: Lewis Strauss, the United States Secretary of Commerce, chair of the Atomic Energy Commission, and candidate for Dwight Eisenhower’s presidential cabinet. The third hour of “Oppenheimer” juxtaposes between two government litigations—the first a trial in a cramped conference room that interrogates Oppenheimer’s involvement with the Russians and Communist party, the second a hearing in which Strauss testifies to secure his spot in the Commander in Chief’s peripheral.
An excellent Cillian Murphy portrays Oppenheimer, the ingenious yet opaque scientist who at one point held humanity in the palm of his hand. An equally terrific Robert Downey Jr. plays Strauss, a man who announces early and proud that he’s president of Temple Emanu-El in Manhattan. Strauss is not too pleased that Oppenheimer has distanced himself from his Jewish roots as he embarks on his project, and feels as though his sacrilege works at the expense of anti-Semitism. The two butt heads throughout. Their mental war is as striking and subtle as the Polaroids in “Memento,” the inverted bullets in “Tenet,” and the totems in “Inception.”
Christopher Nolan’s deliciously dense “Oppenheimer” spins a cinematic web around its lead, filling out every last corner of his professional and personal lifestyle. Oppenheimer had a lavish, unrestrained sex life that put him in some hot water with both his wife Kitty (Emily Blunt), and paramour Jean (Florence Pugh), but Nolan wastes no time, imagining scenarios in which Jean appears in sharp flashbacks and looms over Oppenheimer’s head like a dark cloud, taunting him, distracting him, getting under his skin.
Some will (and have) claimed that this fluff—the aftermath of Los Alamos, what makes Robert amorous—is extraneous. The expectation for “Oppenheimer”—and the reason why people line up to get their tickets to see the movie in 70 mm IMAX—is that it will depict the first bomb dropping in some innovatively whimsical way previously unseen in film. Yes, the bomb dropping is the film’s most exciting scene, and a definitive one; we get to see, hear, and then feel the impact in all its consecutive horror. But while the construction and launching of the bomb is featured plenty, need I remind you that the movie is titled “Oppenheimer” and not “Fat Man: The Nuke”?
While “Oppenheimer” is not exactly a character study, it is a semi-critical analysis of U.S. politics that never leans into the cis-het-male patriotism that comes preordained with fables of American heroes. Christopher Nolan, who also wrote this film’s chunky screenplay, is a Westminster native, after all. This biography doesn’t necessarily take the side of its subject, nor does it oppose his accomplishments and identity. “Oppenheimer” posits that J. Robert was instrumental in the attacking of a Japanese people who were already begging to surrender. But on the other side of the blade, it admires his commitment to a tool that was seen as a promise of safe haven by those living in the shadow of Lady Liberty, and a means of total and complete decimation by a country on the other side of the world.
In a meeting with President Harry S. Truman (here depicted by Gary Oldman in a memorable cameo), Oppenheimer is called a “crybaby” (a detail based on fact); shrewdly dismissed of his power by a man who claims that the Japanese do not so much care who manufactured the device but who made the executive decision to drop it on their noggins. The secrecy of the Manhattan Project is irrelevant—before long, The New York Times and The San Francisco Chronicle assign their writers to the case, spreading the word about Oppenheimer’s intentional “oopsie,” and the people integral to it.
Los Alamos’ military supervisor, General Leslie Groves (Matt Damon) is cynical of Oppenheimer at first, but eventually warms up to him, smarming around with ingratiating wit—when Oppenheimer asks what he’ll do about a colleague who has walked out on the job, Groves responds, “We’ll have him killed.” The General has little influence on the rest of Oppenheimer’s development team, who all have their own ideas and beleaguered explanations for why Oppenheimer is right, wrong, justified, or a disgrace. Edward Teller (Benny Safdie) feels as though they should jump ahead and begin work on a hydrogen bomb, and Ernest Lawrence (Josh Hartnett), Nobel Peace Prize winner lauded for his invention of the cyclotron, turns his fondness for Oppenheimer into envy when the career of his old colleague begins to take flight.
Doubters become believers as politicians become doubters as Oppenheimer faces his legacy, fans, and lawsuit. Told mostly nonlinearly, and zipping back and forth between multiple decades all at once, Nolan, working with editor Jennifer Lame and cinematographer Hoyte van Hoytema, enraptures the viewer on a filmmaking level, focusing on faces, subtle movements, and the symbolism of certain phrases that stick in your head, and imagery that reoccurs again and again, bringing new meaning each time.
Oppenheimer’s lust for quantum exploration and understanding is described by one character as “Jewish science.” He stares thoughtfully into a puddle, watching as raindrops make ripples in the water. Each time something explodes, we see it first, and then, with nervous anticipation, we feel the impact seconds later. He meets with a senile Albert Einstein (Tom Conti) on the banks of a Princeton pond, and says something unknown before Strauss joins them. In the aftermath of a poll, Strauss’ Senate aide (Alden Ehrenreich) informs him that one of his three saviors was that of a young junior senator from Massachusetts by the name of John Kennedy.
So much of “Oppenheimer” is dialogue; sweet, juicy, intelligent dialogue. It’s powered by a brilliant script that earns every single minute of its runtime, and it’s dealt a special superpower via Ludwig Göransson’s booming, brassy score. Not only do we feel the vast machismo of the explosions pulsating under our tuchus, but the horns of the music undulate in and out of our eardrums, overwhelming the senses.
Though it’s not a criticism but an observation, I don’t feel as though it’s necessary for people to be losing their heads over getting tickets for IMAX showings. My screening presented “Oppenheimer” in a format that seemed to split the difference between widescreen and full frame, and aside from one, maybe two scenes, I don’t feel as if I missed out on anything by not seeing the film in 70 mm.
The dropping of the first bomb is a splendid technical achievement and is sure to look excellent in IMAX, but the rest of the film, contrary to what you might expect, is verbal history, adapted from the novel American Prometheus: The Triumph and Tragedy of J. Robert Oppenheimer by Kai Bird and Martin J. Sherman. I’ll be the first critic to admit that I do not completely understand everything that happens in the movie, as it seems to be one designed for multiple viewings.
To appreciate every single reference to historical events, science concepts, people, and objects is to be an expert on the politics of World War II—perhaps to have lived through it yourself—and to have examined the movie under a microscope, with Nolan’s script in hand, following along closely, pausing and hesitating, ruminating through ideas, and drawing educated conclusions.
Similar to Nolan’s other work, “Oppenheimer” is a psychedelic puzzle with the facade of a history lesson, disguised as an allegory for power and how it can be abused, converted into great American cinema. Each crisis averted, faced, or passed on is a lesson to be learned for the film’s characters. Not only is it quintessential Nolan, but it is quintessential entertainment. Your social studies teacher will love it.
Now playing in theaters.