On July 21st, I went to see Christopher Nolan’s biopic Oppenheimer in IMAX at the Michigan Science Center. The film is a fast-paced set of interwoven narratives that tell the story of historical figure J. Robert Oppenheimer, the father of the atomic bomb, as he moves through his career and faces challenging ethical dilemmas that ultimately usher in the nuclear era in which we are currently living.
As you can imagine, it was impossible for me to sit through this three-hour-long epic without thinking about the irreversible impact that Oppenheimer’s actions (and those of the people who surrounded, supported, and enabled him) have had on society and the planet. And, by extension, I couldn’t help but connect Oppenheimer to the concept this project is exploring—the Analog Anthropocene.
As our introductory post explains, the Anthropocene is the name for a new geological epoch, identified by the irreversible mark humanity has left on the planet’s layers. One of the possible indicators of this new (though contested) age is the presence of nuclear radiation—a direct result of the invention and deployment of the atomic bomb in the 1950s. Oppenheimer follows the man central to this operation.
Though the film hardly addresses the environmental impact of its titular figure’s decisions, it nonetheless offers a perspective on how we got here. Particularly, I think that Oppenheimer allows us to trace the sorts of moral positionalities and attitudes that led to the creation of such large-scale destruction.
The audience is asked to identify (however tentatively) with Oppenheimer as he faces both the moral dilemmas of turning his theories into practice and the consequences of his actions. All along the way, we see—through the artistic brilliance of Nolan’s direction and the stunning, gargantuan shots on 70mm IMAX film (to which we’ll return shortly)—the blatant disregard with which Oppenheimer and his devout followers and accomplices treat the most vulnerable in their path, those who to this day experience the most adverse effects of the bomb—the Japanese people that would receive the fatal blow, the Indigenous people displaced and harmed by the development project, and the New Mexican residents who too continue to see the effects of the bomb’s first ever detonation in the Trinity test.
As the film makes clear, many different motivations inspired the bomb’s development—personal glory, nationalism, scientific progress, and even world peace. Yet no good intentions can do anything, we see, to prevent the destructive quality of the weapon created. They cannot reverse the impact the bomb has had (and will continue to have) on the planet and on the people it has already hit.
In reflecting on the film’s message, I’m brought back to the concept of the Analog Anthropocene, a concept meant to ask more questions than perhaps it can answer. In that spirit, I wonder at the significance of the medium of film, particularly 70mm IMAX film, in spreading this message. The total Oppenheimer film reel is 11 miles long and weighs about 600 pounds. What does it mean that a story of this scope, with such ecological implications, was shot and reproduced on such large hunks of plastic?
What, too, does it mean that this story was filmed without CGI—making those breathtaking explosions and surreal sequences real rather than digitally created? How might the real and fictionalized stories be physically traced in the production and viewing of the film, especially since it has been produced in analog?
I don’t have answers to these questions, but I think it important that as we think about the commentary on ethical responsibilities in the film, we should also consider the implications of the medium as the purveyor of that message, especially as it concerns the irreversible societal and environmental impact of the actions depicted and their depiction.
