Triumph and tragedy in Christopher Nolan’s Oppenheimer
Harry Khachatrian
“Can you hear the music?” asks physicist Niels Bohr to a young J. Robert Oppenheimer in an early scene from Christopher Nolan’s latest film, Oppenheimer. And indeed, he could. Just as Mozart was known to compose symphonies as if receiving diction direct from God, Oppenheimer would suffuse his chalkboards with dense equations and hypotheses; his mind would animate the static symbols, giving life to theoretical musings. He not only understood radical, new ideas with ease but absorbed and built upon them.
Nolan sharply captures the unparalleled genius of Oppenheimer, the man credited for inventing the atomic bomb. Interweaving vignettes from Oppenheimer’s rise to stardom and his subsequent fall from grace, the film deftly conveys the scientist’s multifaceted life.
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The film’s two halves are cleverly titled “fission” and “fusion,” the binding and breaking of atoms, mirroring the tragic reality of Oppenheimer’s narrative — the making and unmaking of a man.
Cillian Murphy, brilliantly donning the role of Oppenheimer, portrays the ambitious scientist with an undeniable fervor for knowledge. A theoretical physicist, he devoured knowledge of all kinds: He taught himself Dutch in six weeks to deliver a lecture in the Netherlands. He studied Nietzsche, delved into Eastern philosophy, and learned to read Sanskrit. In his early years, even indulged in Marxist fantasies.
Underneath the riveting biopic, Nolan grapples with two pivotal moral dilemmas that not only haunted Oppenheimer but also cast a shadow over Western society: the alarming proliferation of atomic weapons and the relentless governmental crusade to unmask and extinguish any trace of communist sympathies within the public sphere.
These are the issues pervading Oppenheimer’s interspersed “fusion” chapters. Despite his resolute condemnation of the Nazis, heightened by the horror of the Holocaust, Oppenheimer remained morally ambiguous toward the Soviets and the atrocities committed behind the Iron Curtain, repeatedly referring to them as allies. Through fragmented segments of his trial, Oppenheimer’s bedeviled flirtations with communists are measured and levied against him.
In a poignant scene, when Oppenheimer first expresses concerns over the weapon’s usage, Leslie Groves (Matt Damon), the lieutenant general who appointed Oppenheimer to head the Manhattan Project, responds curtly, “You gave them an ace. They’ll decide how to play the hand.” Through such shrewd dialogue, Nolan conveys Oppenheimer’s greatest crucible: his scientific prowess ushered in the Atomic Age, but he remained confined to his laboratory, bereft of direct power in the political arena to control the usage of his deadly invention.
Robert Downey Jr.’s portrayal of Lewis Strauss, chairman of the United States Atomic Energy Commission, serves as a welcome reminder of his range and capability as an actor after his decadelong portrayal of Iron Man. His performance, likely to earn a nod for best supporting actor, leaves a significant impact on the film’s narrative. As Oppenheimer navigates the political waters to promote nuclear disarmament in the aftermath of World War II, Strauss, less naive about Soviet intentions, masterminds a covert campaign to tarnish Oppenheimer’s reputation. The subtlety and nuance that Downey brings to the role make his character’s actions both chilling and fascinating to watch.
While the film primarily revolves around its eponymous protagonist, Nolan also provides a captivating glimpse into his wife, Kitty, masterfully portrayed by Emily Blunt. Embodying the spectrum of struggles she bore alongside Oppenheimer, Blunt’s character emerges from a supportive presence in the backdrop of the trial in a highlight scene. Interrogated about her affiliations with the American Communist Party, she disavows her incipient, rebellious youth, but instead of a balking apology, demurs with the notion that her past sins define or cloud her present judgment.
Unlike much of Nolan’s previous work, Oppenheimer doesn’t rely on action-packed sequences or labyrinthine plot lines. Apart from the sequence portraying the first atom bomb test in the arid New Mexico desert — a scene that stands among the finest in Nolan’s filmmaking career — the film eschews high-octane spectacle. Instead, Oppenheimer shines as a triumphant three-hour historical drama, propelled by incisive dialogue and captivating performances.
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In Oppenheimer, the complexity is inherent in its subject. Nolan communicates these complex ideas (nuclear physics) in disarmingly simple visuals: A glass bowl gradually fills with marbles to track U.S. progress in enriching sufficient uranium. He portrays the mind of a complex genius, imbued with hubris and harrowing guilt, and captures the driving force in Oppenheimer’s mind: He could hear the music.
Harry Khachatrian (@Harry1T6) is a film critic for the Washington Examiner’s Beltway Confidential blog and a computer engineer in Toronto, pursuing his MBA.