I’m glad I didn’t make a double feature of Barbie and Oppenheimer. While the box office synergy that appears to have lifted both movies is a wonder to behold, each one needs its own mental space. That’s especially true of Christopher Nolan’s biopic of the so-called “father of the atomic bomb,” which weighs in at 180 minutes yet never slows down.
The deal
In 1954, the U.S. Atomic Energy Commission holds a hearing on whether to revoke the security clearance of J. Robert Oppenheimer (Cillian Murphy) on the grounds of his past Communist associations. With the Cold War heating up, even the man who helmed the development of the atomic bomb during World War II is suspect. Led by chairman Lewis Strauss (Robert Downey Jr.), the hearing also has the ulterior motive of dethroning Oppenheimer from a position of political influence, given his inconvenient opposition to the new hydrogen bomb.
As Oppenheimer takes the stand, we flash back to the events that brought him here: his studies of then-newfangled quantum physics in Europe; his teaching days in Berkeley, Calif., where he socialized with political radicals such as the troubled Jean Tatlock (Florence Pugh); his recruitment by Gen. Leslie Groves (Matt Damon) to lead the Manhattan Project and race Hitler to the development of an atomic bomb that could win the war.
In alternation with these two narrative threads, we also see scenes of a second hearing, in 1959: Seeking confirmation as president Dwight D. Eisenhower’s secretary of commerce, Strauss faces tough questions about his earlier treatment of Oppenheimer.
Will you like it?
Oppenheimer is based on Kai Bird and Martin Sherwin’s American Prometheus: The Triumph and Tragedy of J. Robert Oppenheimer, a biography that took a quarter century to write. Nolan doesn’t spoon-feed the high points to viewers. (He does spoon-feed us quantum physics, but that’s to be expected.) Plunged into a blizzard of names, facts and relationships, we may struggle to keep the three timelines straight. But, unlike Nolan’s previous movie, Tenet, which felt more like a puzzle than a story, this one rewards our close attention.
First and foremost, Oppenheimer is a meaty procedural, with as many “walk and talks” as any Aaron Sorkin TV show. While we might expect the Manhattan Project scenes to form the film’s core, its tripartite structure actually gives primacy to the closed-door courtroom drama of the 1954 hearing. The 1959 scenes, by contrast, are in black and white, a visual shorthand that keeps us from getting confused during the rapid, expert crosscutting by Nolan and editor Jennifer Lame. That choice also relegates the post-1954 events to the status of a postscript, reinforcing the notion that everything essential about Oppenheimer’s legacy was decided at the AEC hearing.
What is that legacy, anyway? Who was the man who gave us the A-bomb, and why should we care? The film has touched off bitter arguments about whether we should be exploring the tormented psyche of Oppenheimer at all. “Brilliance makes up for a lot,” Oppenheimer says impishly at one point in the film. But does it make up for more than 100,000 civilian deaths in Hiroshima and Nagasaki? (See sidebar for some films that address the bombing from the Japanese perspective.)
Laying aside the fraught debate over whether the bombing was necessary, the answer, of course, is no. Oppenheimer himself learns that genius is no excuse, to his rue. The film boasts two bravura set pieces: the Trinity bomb test in the New Mexico desert and the team’s celebration after they learn of the successful bombings in Japan. While the first sequence is tense yet dazzling, with a touch of Spielbergian wonder, the second is straight out of a horror movie. We experience the celebration through Oppenheimer’s fractured consciousness as he absorbs the unspeakable reality of what he’s done.
Oppenheimer is a powerful, merciless study of someone who believes brilliance is its own justification until he comes face to face with consequences that he can’t take back. Murphy plays the physicist as a bit ethereal, an elfin fellow with a chaotic side. As a graduate student, angry at his tutor, Oppenheimer injects an apple with cyanide and leaves it on the tutor’s desk. The next morning, horrified by his own impulsive act, he rushes to undo it.
But the A-bomb cannot be undone — not by private remorse or by public attempts to contain the damage. While many biopics aim to redeem their subjects, Nolan’s puts the whole issue of redemption into skeptical relief. The conflict between Oppenheimer and Strauss poses a question that still resonates today: Should we allow public figures to change their minds? Or must they live out their “personal brand” to the end? Neither mere villain nor martyr, caught in a system that all the brilliance in the world can’t master, Oppenheimer is an exemplary embodiment of the law of unintended consequences.
If you like this, try…
White Light/Black Rain: The Destruction of Hiroshima and Nagasaki (2007; Max): Survivors of ground zero tell their stories — accompanied by wrenching images — in Steven Okazaki’s documentary.
Barefoot Gen (1983; RetroCrush, check your library): Based on the manga series by Hiroshima survivor Keiji Nakazawa (which gave me nightmares as a child), this acclaimed anime presents the bombing from the point of view of a 6-year-old.
The Wind Rises (2013; Max, rentable): Hayao Miyazaki’s spellbinding animated film tells the story of Jiro Horikoshi, who designed aircraft for Imperial Japan. Like Oppenheimer, it plumbs the psyche of an innovator who belatedly regrets his complicity in the deadly use of his creations.
This article appears in Aug 2-8, 2023.
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