The last time I saw a stormed cinema was when I was seven years old. It was in a remote village, the only hall for miles around, filled with smoke and peasants dragging their chairs out of the house. They filled the entire space, including the path to the bathroom or the exit. Now I’m in a small town with a multiplex and instead of chairs, someone is holding a water bottle in their hands. The human burden, however, is more or less the same as it was back then. The line for tickets rolls out into the street, blocking traffic, horns are buzzing inside, where the giant statuette of Oscar is about to cry tears of joy. It seems like it’s at a concert, we cling to each other and walk holding hands. Spatulas and shovels of nachos and popcorn crackle, inhaling the smell of oily anticipation. I broke some rules and covered up any paranoia associated with being here. I clutch my ticket and think it’s 9:30 p.m., I usually never go in after 6 p.m. The entertainer shows me directions: the first room, the great movie room, all dubbed and reserved for the Marvel productions that I swore revenge on. A dead friend writes to me: “Tickets are over”, here’s another broken rule, I go to the cinema alone and put myself in the last place on the top left, I answer to try another cinema, since three cinemas out of seven for Oppenheimer, “they are all finished,” he says. Tuesday evening, I rise to the center of the room, which will soon be filled with possible chewers, talkers, coughs, pomichioni and phone maniacs, but I am calm, no cold sweat, no anxiety, I squeeze the pips I have. in my pocket and look at my two comrades, how nice.
Finally I sit down, put on my glasses and rejoice, I can’t wait for the lights to go out. Nolan is the kind of director where you basically know what’s going to be fun and entertaining. The main elements of the equation: a hundred million dollar production, Cillian Murphy (sorry that the general public associates this with the project Boardwalk Empire and not The wind caresses the grass) as the main character and only fifty-five shooting days. Radio 3 reported yesterday that India was the first to arrive at the moon’s south polar region, a mission that cost half Interstellar. Oppenheimer is still a blockbuster by comparison, but in miniature. At the same time, when you go to see the work of such a director, the cost is about ten million. I rememberthe expectation is definitely not low, even if this is a biopic, another biopic, but at least it’s not a superhero, more or less.
The immediate beginning of the movie is confusing to me, I’m not sure if it’s a movie or if they broadcast the trailer by mistake. In the hall where I usually go, there is no usual advertising summary before performances, and for this I am grateful to him. But immediately flashes and music make it clear that the narration is taken from the trailer. There are several timelines, as always, mostly three, one is distinguished by a beautiful black and white film, the rest are intricately intertwined, and the credits division AND merger they seem almost as hastily discarded as the title of the book: Robert Oppenheimer, father of the atomic bomb. Triumph and tragedy of the scientist Kai Bird and Martin J. Sherwin. An explosion begins in every sense: fire, a pipe and a hat, all the elements explode in our faces along with the first famous name: Niels Bohr, and some students straighten their backs in the hall. I turn to my brother and see tension through the lenses of his glasses: he is waiting for Enrico Fermi and not sure if he will show up. Quotations continue, but they quickly pass, and, unfortunately, only catchphrases and aphorisms fly out of their mouths. Some events are distorted or completely reversed, such as the poisoned apple story suggested by my friend’s elbows, but no one expected or demanded a true documentary.
Hoyt van Hoytema’s photographs are artful but not always pleasing, especially in close-ups and in the repetitive and claustrophobic plays of fire. A bit like a Ludwig Göransson soundtrack: ubiquitous except for the explosion scene. A composer whose filmography speaks for itself and not for the better. Not a single shot or movement of note, other than the one where Oppenheimer appears naked during the interrogation. Disproportionate use of flash with cloying sound effects. Expressive and rhetorical dialogues with too dry vocabulary for a film, where half of the frames are stuffed with physicists. We go from too much to too little without even touching the balance. The feeling of being a parody not only of the MacchioCapatonda trailer effect, but also of didactic roles such as those of Matt Damon and Emily Blunt. As if that weren’t enough, Oppenheimer’s figure is explicitly compared several times to that of God. A regrettably greedy cast, some of which are reduced to figures or cameos. Jennifer Lame’s editing is obviously not her choice, trying so hard to make the story compelling that it’s confusing. The sound effects are so repetitive and emphasized that they are more annoying than the soundtrack, which often drowns out the dialogue. Among the few points that do not contradict each other, of course, are the costumes and scenery.
During the film, several telephone beacons signaled the presence of some demographic stones; history no doubt teaches that the colossal publicity work that preceded the film’s release—New York City completely oppenheimerized—must have been a strong wake-up call. I walk down the hallway to the exit and am no longer sure this isn’t a superhero movie, I yawn but the overall body language seems positive, even if I try it, it feels like I’m surrounded by Marvel viewers. and many T-shirts unfortunately confirm this, of course, at a distance of light years. I picture Nolan spinning Oppenheimer dressed as Batman, who later realizes his mistake, too late to correct it. After the keeper there was a need to fix something and move on, but as for those who are trying to cover up the sweat with perfume, Nolan decides to unleash all his productive power by charging Scott R. Fisher to the maximum, which stinks even more. What I saw wasn’t a movie, it was social media entertainment, trailer bombardment. What is likely to be the highest-grossing hit in the director’s history, and the awards may well mark his creative end. Let’s hope not.
I was seven years old when I went to the cinema and saw as many people as they were on the screen. Life is Beautiful. The emphasis of this information in the article is directly proportional to the final dialogue between Einstein and Oppenheimer in the film.