Oppenheimer: Christopher Nolan's Spectacularly Thought-Provoking Portrait of Power

Throughout history, man's dance with fire has both warmed civilizations and scorched empires. From primitive hearths to industrial revolutions, fire has illuminated humanity's journey through time. But beware the prowess of fire's beauty, for its allure can mask the inferno that lies beneath. Like Prometheus' gift, fire demands respect; for its embrace can bestow wonders, yet its defiance can bring ruin.

Oppenheimer’s story is such that of Prometheus. His pivotal role in creating the atom bomb, which led to the end of World War 2, and his unwavering loyalty to his country came at a price due to his resistance against fully embracing the power of the ‘fire’. His questionable associations in the past and his unyielding stance on matters social, political and philosophical, after the war, invited the rage of the powerful. ‘Fire’ is power, rage, angst, envy, hatred, anger and ego in this twelfth directorial from Chrsitopher Nolan.

Oppenheimer opens with a forceful and destructive cloud of fire consuming the entire screen, accompanied by superimposed texts that draw parallels to the tale of Prometheus, who dared to steal fire from the gods and was condemned to eternal punishment. This allegorical connection sets the stage as we cut to a tight close-up of Oppenheimer’s face, caged in a security clearance renewal hearing.

Cillian Murphy's face here is not an easy one to forget. An equilibrium of authority, tension, and innocence, coalescing into a compelling interplay. His brooding, dominant deep-blue eyes appear burdened by an unutterable guilt. And Cillian Murphy becomes the vessel for shouldering Oppenheimer's remorse, allowing the tormented soul to immediately strike the audience, revealing the dichotomy of his later life.

On the other side, we are also introduced to a senate hearing focused on Lewis Strauss and his cabinet nomination. Interestingly enough, while Oppenheimer's hearing is labelled ‘Fission’, Strauss's hearing is labelled ‘Fusion’, adding to the narrative's thematic depth. Fission is subjective and colour while Fusion is black and white.

And this is the moment, the evocative, tormenting and panic-inducing sophistication of Ludwig Göransson's score is revealed. The score possesses an unsettling quality that can immediately get under the skin, affecting the viewer’s senses to leave a haunting impression. Göransson's music is a shape shifting force that holds Oppenheimer together with Murphy’s performance.

The musical cues are supported by the skilled editing of Jennifer Lame, ensuring that the pace of Oppenheimer remains consistently engaging. The film moves with a great sense of urgency, swiftly transitioning between scenes. And similar to the multi-armed Hindu god - Vishnu, referenced by Oppenheimer from the Bhagavad Gita, there are three to four parallel narratives that work in harmony with the music, maintaining the movie's momentum.

And this flow is also matched visually with a rich and artistic look and feel demonstrated by Nolan and his director of photography, Hoyte van Hoytema, especially in the black and white sequences. And the film’s visual spectacularity comes from these rich images. Nolan’s influence from Terrence Malick is very visible in Oppenheimer as he takes a philosophical approach to shoot nature unlike the architectural wonders or ambitiously grand set designs of his previous films.

With director Christopher Nolan’s ingenious imagination of reflecting the innermost conflict of the man who moved the earth, he translates the pure subjectiveness of Oppenheimer’s story into his filmmaking thereby transforming it into a universally tense, pulse pounding and atmospheric experience which also delivers on emotions. And Christopher Nolan is no stranger when it comes to infusing an emotional depth to grand scale blockbusters. But this time he turns an intimate and emotional portrait of a conflicted man into a soulful and absorbing spectacle.

In Oppenheimer, the spectacle also flows from Oppenheimer's subjective visions of a hidden universe, captivating visuals of subatomic particles, and an awe-inspiring display of enraging fire, all magnified through the expansive canvas of large-scale photography. These visuals serve as a backdrop for the film's emotional core, which reverberates with the protagonist's inner turmoil—his frustration, angst, anxiety, and guilt, stemming from the burden of blood on his hands.

Oppenheimer leans heavily on dialogue-driven (not exposition) storytelling, becoming a battle of words amidst the battle of worlds. Yet, its essence lies not only in its music and dialogues but also in its embrace of silence. Christopher Nolan aptly grants an almost silent treatment to the Trinity Test, prioritizing the breathing sounds of Oppenheimer, inviting viewers into the character's mind rather than focusing on the external explosion.

Then there is the blistering white light of radiation and a momentary silence and the crushing thunder of cheers when he speaks about the success of the use of the weapons. Harrowing and hard hitting, it stands out as one of the year's best scenes. It also highlights how the use of sound and silence helped Nolan to bring his psychological storytelling to life.

The presence of sound and silence, the subjective narrative and the parallel storytelling, the inter-cuts, the fast paced editing, are all born out of the need to explore the character’s psychology rather than the demands of storytelling.  It also reflected Oppenheimer’s state of mind with a lot of things happening at the same time.

The weight of domestic issues, such as Kitty Oppenheimer's struggles with overdrinking, combined with the looming specter of communist infiltration, the pressures from the military, the tragic loss of Jean Tatlock, the imperative to maintain cohesion among the team, the daunting task of constructing the bomb, and the relentless adherence to tight deadlines, all collectively contributed to an overwhelming cacophony of demands and burdens for Oppenheimer. And Nolan makes Oppenheimer stand out as a haunting and deeply affecting portrait of this complex man.

Nolan’s ending is very much open. The film leaves room for a multitude of interpretations regarding Oppenheimer’s motivations and actions. Some perceive him as naive or just an idiot, as he refers to himself during the hearing. Others view him as a wielder of power, overseeing the scientists and heading Los Alamos, as pointed out by Strauss, who also claims that Oppenheimer never publicly expressed regret over the use of atomic bombs in Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

A fallen angel who embraced the fate of going against the wishes of the warlords, Oppenheimer shares the same moral dilemma of ‘actions versus conscience’ that Bruce Wayne from among Nolan’s previous films have faced. A creation that shaped the world we live in today but broke a man, Oppenheimer is as much drenched in politics as much as it wants to say that it's time to turn and learn back from history.

But just like its interpretation of the complicated character, its political stand is also left wide open. Nolan’s politics are as ambiguous as his films. He presents Oppenheimer both as a critique of America’s wartime policies and also as a story of a patriot.

Oppenheimer ends on a tragic, unsettling and thought-provoking tone, raising numerous questions for the times to come. Oppenheimer's fear and guilt of the chain reaction stemming from his creation is not limited to atmospheric ignition but extends to the global arms race of the contemporary world. His haunting realization remains pertinent, evident in the current dynamics of our contemporary geopolitical landscape.