It’s at once a speeding roller-coaster and a skin-tingling spiritual portrait an often classically minded period piece that only Nolan could have made, and only now, after a quarter-century’s run-up. Those eyes might be the neatest way to sum up what Nolan and his cast and crew have achieved here: Oppenheimer is a film that works simultaneously on the most intimate and cosmic scales. In times of quiet contemplation, it’s as if his attention has been caught by a black hole on the far side of the galaxy at points of anger or tension, his irises could be the crowns of two tiny, cobalt mushroom clouds.
In the lead role of J Robert Oppenheimer, the father of the nuclear bomb, Murphy’s faraway gaze not only convinces you that he can actually see the invisible power that crackles between subatomic particles, but also the gravest, most unforgivable consequences of his unleashing it upon the world. But what you also realise, within a matter of seconds, is that it would have also been impossible to pull off without Cillian Murphy’s eyes.
On a basic give-‘em-what-they-paid-for level, Christopher Nolan’s extraordinary new film had to have a convincing explosion at its centre – and on that front, be assured it delivers with flesh-quaking aplomb.
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