Christopher Nolan’s Oppenheimer is a three-hour biopic covering the life of the “father of the atomic bomb” from his time as a postgrad student through his role as project director of the Manhattan Project toward the tail end of WWII, concluding with the aftermath of his role and his struggle against the political forces attacking both his work and his personal life.

I cannot say anything better beyond what has already been said by people far smarter than me. Suffice to say, I think I will feel differently upon re-watching this movie later. For something filmed in IMAX that we have been urged to digest on the largest screen possible, it’s an awful lot of talking. Nolan’s big trick was getting us all to go to the theater for essentially the same reasons Paul Thomas Anderson put The Master on the big screen in 70mm: the faces are the canvas, not the gaping hole in the New Mexico desert. Every consternation in the wrinkles of RDJ’s forehead, every look of bewildered excitement in Cillian Murphy’s eyes as he realizes just how unprepared he is to make the moral choices dropped into his lap, the pursed lips of Emily Blunt as she steels herself for the emotional trauma of standing side by side with her husband, the father of the atomic bomb; these are the crevices into which the viewer falls headlong.

There’s many typical Nolan signatures. It jumps around in time a lot, as if Oppenheimer’s very memories fractured into a million pieces as his research got fused to the propulsion of the American military machine desperate not only to end WWII but to prevent WWIII with the Soviets. There are men in fancy suits, women who don’t get to do enough (though Blunt’s performance ends up being the very best in a huge cast), practical effects, music in scenes where it shouldn’t be, an overly serious tone, and yes, dialogue that can’t be understood delivered by pointlessly famous faces putting on silly accents. Some people never change.

It’s a largely successful biography (albeit extraordinarily one-sided), something Nolan hasn’t really explored outside of the first hour of Batman Begins, and a very successful morality play. I think I rightfully left the theater wondering just how much Oppenheimer truly believed sociopolitical progress would accompany scientific progress, up until the political machine firmly told him it wouldn’t. Credit Cillian Murphy’s hollow-eyed performance, a gaunt skeleton of a man pushed into leadership and reaping consequences in his own professional life as toxic as the guilt deep in his soul.

I found the left turn into political thriller very entertaining and unexpected, though I’m not sure it’s as smooth a tonal shift and important reinforcement of the film’s themes as Nolan wished. I’ll be pondering that quite a bit when I re-watch.

Overall, I think Nolan wanted to make a mostly un-cinematic story into a grand and exciting experience – almost too exciting. I had a cramp in my back at film’s end from buying into the tension so hard. His editor, Jennifer Lame, masterfully pulls the viewer along through every genre and idea Nolan cares to explore, and she deserves most of the credit here for making sure we remember who is who in the gigantic cast (not every scientist of the 20th century has as memorable a visage as Einstein, it turns out) and not sinking into disinterest during the talky scenes. It’s a spellbinding film. Not many can sustain tone like Nolan can, and my hat is off to him for remaining who he is while exploring a new level of seriousness in cinema.