Oppenhyper

Christopher Nolan’s Oppenheimer is a film that, much like a brand-new computer loaded with bloatware, requires an exhausting effort to strip away its unnecessary elements before revealing anything of true substance. It came with an excessive runtime and a suffocating sense of self-importance—a product of the hype train that effectively indoctrinated audiences into committing to watch the film. Even after this painstaking process, one might still wonder whether there was ever anything substantial at all.

Clocking in at over three hours, Oppenheimer becomes an endurance test—like being asked to run the London Marathon on short notice.

One of its most glaring issues is its overstuffed ensemble. It’s almost as if every actor who takes themselves seriously queued outside Nolan’s door for a credit, desperate to escape the Marvel machine and be taken seriously—even if they only had two lines of dialogue. Unfortunately, none of them leave a lasting impression. Cillian Murphy, portraying J. Robert Oppenheimer, is saddled with carrying the movie, yet even his technically proficient performance—bombarded by non-stop macro shots of his face to convey emotion—feels more like a photoshoot for Time magazine than genuine character development. Meanwhile, the supporting cast—including Robert Downey Jr., Emily Blunt, and Florence Pugh—merely recites expository dialogue, reducing their roles to mouthpieces delivering pre-packaged intellectual musings rather than fully realized characters.

At the story’s center lies the Trinity test, heralded as its grand crescendo. However, when the moment arrives, the sequence is shockingly underwhelming. Nolan’s obsession with practical effects produces a depiction that lacks the monumental scale expected of an atomic explosion. Rather than conveying the devastation, fear, and consequence of such an event, the movie treats the explosion as a mere technical achievement. In its fixation on scientific progress, Oppenheimer sidesteps the human toll of nuclear warfare, neglecting the moral and historical implications that should have been central to its narrative.

Nolan’s recurring difficulty in conveying genuine human emotion is on full display throughout. His work often resembles a meticulously crafted puzzle—intellectually stimulating yet emotionally sterile. While Interstellar managed to blend spectacle with soul, Oppenheimer reverts to a mode of technical execution that prioritizes information over intimate engagement. Even the master sex scene intended to evoke a bit of intimacy comes across as awkward, as though you could feel the crew in the room with them, making it uncomfortable for the actors.

His reliance on exposition in Tenet serves as a prime example of compensating for weak character development. In that film, the narrative becomes so intentionally complex that it often feels as though a manual is required just to decipher its underlying themes. This overabundance of explanation—bordering on pretentiousness—appears less as a creative choice and more as an insecurity.

At times, it feels as if Nolan is constantly trying to recreate 2001: A Space Odyssey with every film he makes. Before he leaves the studio, the executives say, “Chris, nobody understands this.” In response, he resorts to filling his works with the kind of explainer videos typically found on YouTube, in the hope of commercializing his complex vision.

Another troubling aspect of Oppenheimer is its treatment of global impact, particularly regarding Japan. Notably, Japan was the final destination on the film's premiere circuit—a deliberate decision not driven by scheduling conflicts, but rather one that underscores a deeper shortcoming. Given its extensive runtime, one might have expected the film to dedicate more time to illustrating the profound consequences of the Manhattan Project—how the development and deployment of the atomic bomb reshaped not only American history but also the lives of those in Japan. Instead, Oppenheimer offers only a superficial nod to the nation's suffering, replacing meaningful exploration with unnecessary elements that add little depth.

Once Hollywood’s hype elevates a director beyond criticism, the result can be a bloated mess like Oppenheimer. True cinematic greatness is not achieved solely through spectacle but through a deep, thoughtful engagement with history, humanity, and the interplay of global impact—elements that Oppenheimer regrettably fails to fully explore.