This wasn’t what I meant to write for today’s update. But if I’m going to risk watching a film (masked) in a time of COVID, I do want the movie to not be terrible. Unfortunately, “Oppenheimer” was, despite Cillian Murphy’s best efforts.
Even if you haven’t seen the movie and don’t want or plan to, there are things we can learn creatively from its failure.
For me, the movie doesn’t work for a myriad of reasons. The erasure of multiple populations; the thin writing of female characters as “crazy” mothers and “crazy” sex objects whose few scenes serve only the male hero’s so-called journey—I wrote about these specific reasons in a longer analysis piece for my job, which also delves into the role of the storyteller. Also, the dialogue was ridiculous.
But the movie also fails creatively on the level of character. Because Oppenheimer the man? He does not change.
Murphy changes. His body thins, becoming painfully gaunt. His hair thins and grays. But even one of the best actors of our time is limited by the words he has to say, the character he was given. And that character is stagnant.
Oppenheimer’s hair changes more than the character does; it’s full and curly at the beginning. We are supposed to believe that the decision to develop, test, and detonate the atomic bomb haunted Oppenheimer.
But the character was always haunted. He starts the story anxious. He ends it anxious. His levels remain exactly the same. Three hours felt like six. And when I saw “Oppenheimer,” the theater was full of bros. Bros love “Oppenheimer.”
To have movement, you have to have change. To have story, you have to have movement.
Some people are uncomfortable with the idea of change. Some people want explosions and no real work. In a way, the film recalls Jonah Hill. Let’s utilize the language of therapy without the growth of therapy. Let’s weaponize emotion. Let’s pretend to be introspective without actually learning, growing, or doing anything differently.
To have movement, you have to have change. To have story, you have to have movement. A character can’t start and end the story in the same place. Well, they can but it’s very boring, and your audience will end up, as I did, daydreaming about going to bathroom and simply never coming back.
Let’s dazzle the audience with mixed-up scenes while ignoring the basic building blocks of narrative. Character, want, conflict, and emotion. Christopher Nolan uses non-linear storytelling as a way to avoid the hard work of actual, earned storytelling. It’s fun to tell a nonchronological story. It’s extremely challenging—trust me, I know—but sometimes worth it. If it serves the story.
And what opportunities it could have presented to show someone in various stages of grief, regret, and arrogance instead of on the exact same stage emotionally for three entire hours.
You have to learn the rules before you can break them. Then, break away. But in all your razzle dazzle, don’t forget character: the soul of a story, the human part, the part that feels. The part that must grow and change—even if for the worse—in order for the audience (or reader) to feel anything at all.