Updated: 3 days ago
These essays are a part of the first History for Peace Ambassadors programme with the Department of Liberal Arts, Humanities and Social Sciences at MAHE-Bengaluru. They have been written by the three peace ambassadors Aditya Sunil, Avishi Agarwal and Yash Bhattacharjee.
For a complete report on the programme click here.
Introduction
Historical films often become our first and most enduring encounter with the past beyond the pages of a textbook. Whether we are history enthusiasts, film critics, public, or students, films frequently shape the way we imagine historical events. But the question that comes up is whether these historical films mask, misrepresent, reconstruct history, or, in some cases, are historically simply untrue? Similar to the way stories are passed down through families and communities, historical films simplify, dramatize and interpret the past rather than merely reproducing it. Historical films deserve to be studied as historical sources, not because they reproduce the past as it happened, but because they play a role in influencing historical memory and public understanding of the past. Historical films must be carefully assessed for their ideological positioning, the mentalities of the viewers who loved them or hated them and what they say about the time when the films were actually made. Movies shape collective memory, how they perceive an event and show the way stories are told (often as glorified or suppressed). They influence who is remembered as a hero, whose voices remain unheard and which narratives become part of public memory. And when we learn to analyse historical films as texts, we can better identify and challenge propaganda.
That’s why we think it is important not to dismiss them as sources of entertainment; instead, we must aim to become critical consumers so that we are able to assess the historical narratives, cultural perspectives and debates presented through these films, and server as responsible witnesses of historical films.
Historical films, like academic histories, interpret rather than simply reproduce the past. However, they do so through conventions of film making, where decisions concerning narratives, imagery and dramatization can greatly shape how the historical events are understood. Every decision, from the events included and omitted to the characters celebrated, marginalized, or villainized, reflects the choices made by the filmmakers rather than objective historical reality. This makes them a reflection of the values, concerns and political ideas in the period during which the film was produced, a stock photo as a representation of that period. Yet, we must be alive to the dangers of such a representation where some versions of events are promoted at the expense of others.
The collection of essays here examines three specific examples of the historical cinema: Jodhaa Akbar (2008), Oppenheimer (2023), and Braveheart (1995). In these essays, we look at how characters, events and societies from the historical past are represented to better understand the relationship between history, memory and popular culture. As students of history, we often find ourselves drawn to a particular film, not because it promised historical accuracy but because it raised questions that stayed with us long after the credits rolled. Whether it is the grandeur of empires, moral dilemmas surrounding scientific progress, or the struggle for freedom and identity, our engagement with history through our undergraduate years has encouraged us to look beyond the narratives and ask how history is remembered, represented, and interpreted. As ambassadors of the History for Peace programme, we’ve brought this training to explore the relationship between history and cinema itself.
THE JOY OF WATCHING, THE DRAMA OF CONTESTING: JODHAA AKBAR AS HISTORY?
Avishi Agarwal
Jodhaa Akbar, a 2008 Hindi film directed by Ashutosh Gowariker, was a major commercial success in India with a box office collection of Rs. 77.85 crore. It is set during the period of Mughal emperor Jalaluddin Muhammad Akbar and focuses on his marriage to the Rajput princess, supposedly called Jodha.[i]
Summaries and reviews of the film are aplenty and easily accessible. My article will not then focus on the storyline and will instead explore how the film constructs a fictive[ii] historical narrative and what it says about the time it was made in, namely, 2008. At the outset, the film itself claims to be 'a work of fiction' and that 'any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental'. Although it refuses to explicitly state it as a work inspired by true events, the director has stated in press interviews that he studied various historical writings, such as Medieval India by K L Khurana, Akbar by Muni Lal, Princely Terrains by Shikha Jain, Medieval India by Satish Chandra and A History of Jaipur by Jadunath Sarkar. He asserts that even though he uses historical figures in his film, it has been purely for entertainment purposes. He even argues that his reason for making the film was the resemblance he found with the contemporary Indian marital system, i.e., arranged marriages and that he intended to display the 'perfect arranged marriage' that the couple shared (Jha, 2024).
The dangers of 'authenticity': Not wholesome history
Here's where the blurred lines between historical authenticity and entertainment can get problematic. When a film has the aura of ‘authenticity’ even though it is not authentic, people start accepting what is depicted in the film at face value, considering it to be a source and representation of history rather than a work of imagination. For instance, even though Gowariker has said his inspiration is the perfect arranged marriage that the two historical figures shared, that they had a perfect arranged marriage is not a claim verified by any historian.
Period films work to reduce the understanding of an entire period to what is depicted in one film. In this case, it not only leads to a glorified version of a historical figure (in this case, Akbar), but also the period, where the reign of Akbar is shown in a positive light—for e.g., people exempted from paying Jizya and a more ‘secular’, inclusive society. Other crucial aspects, such as court politics, social reforms and economic practices that are equally relevant for understanding the period are sidelined and only a hagiography (such as in this film) or a demonising/villainising of a ruler remains etched in public memory. Several historical figures have made their way into popular imagination in such ways: as a source of inspiration (Shivaji I), a figure of contempt and evil (Alaudin Khilji), or as a figure supporting humanity (Mahatma Gandhi), thanks to popular culture.
The film only focuses on depicting the grandeur of durbars and the occasion of Akbar being given the title of ‘The Great’. There are no scenes of ordinary subjects. In other words, what such films and even some academic and popular accounts of historical periods miss is the subaltern histories of non-elite classes who were marginalised not only in their society but also in various historical records generated in that period. In critical history-writing, scholars have tried to write ‘histories from below’ and challenge the single heroic gaze by either drawing in new sources such as religious and devotional literature, folk songs, oral literature, and/or reading elite sources ‘against the grain’ to discern and interpret social and economic tensions in any historical period.
For example, the historian Cynthia Talbot in her article on Akbar's 1578 hunt compares court-sponsored Persian accounts with Dalpat Vilas, a little-known Rajput source. The article focuses on how the Dalpat Vilas is ‘one of the few primary sources from Akbar's reign to describe the king as enraged, or indeed as possessing notable negative qualities’ (Talbot, 2021). This Rajput source details how, on an enraged Akbar’s orders, some Rajput nobility were flogged and whipped for a small infraction. Talbot’s article is important for us for three reasons: it interrogates the court-sponsored sources used by historians to write of Akbar and what kinds of omissions and world views that may be present in these much cited sources; the worldview present in Indic-language sources which offer complexity to the historical figure of Akbar who has otherwise been presented in both popular and scholarly accounts as a ‘tolerant king’; and finally, it tells us how writers not belonging to the court saw royalty.
Deconstructing the ‘Perfect Marriage Alliance’
Gowarikar considers the movie to be a representation of Indian arranged marriages and how they had a 'perfect marriage alliance' irrespective of their religious differences. This obscures the fact that political considerations went into this marital arrangement between Akbar and the Rajputs, rather than being a symbol of Hindu-Muslim unity, or even secularism, of that period. The film glorifies one instance of a historical alliance that was not representative of social realities but was rather an outcome of the political exigencies of that period. In fact, in most historical periods in the Indian subcontinent, the perfect marriage alliance was where individuals married within their own sub-caste/clan. This continues to be the case in contemporary India, with interfaith marriages making up roughly 2% to 2.2%, according to some reports.
Given these historical inaccuracies and absences in Jodha Akbar, how can we actually read films?
How to read a film
The historian Anirudh Deshpande, in his lecture History and Cinema, points out that film historians must bear in mind that films are representative of the times they are being made in. He presents a triangulated model to understand a film: the filmmaker, who narrates and produces a story; the audience who consumes the narratives and judges the art; and the historians, who question both the other actors (Deshpande, 2021). The film historian, Deshpande argues, must ask the following questions: Why was the film produced in a particular way? What was the philosophical positioning of the filmmaker and does the film reflect their ideologies? Why did audiences like/dislike a particular film? What kind of emotions did they feel and why?
The filmmaker: Using this framework, I argue that the reconstructions present in Jodhaa Akbar are a call by the filmmaker for contemporary India to be more tolerant and secular, to perhaps imagine a future in which interfaith marriages are common. Akbar’s presentation as a secular and tolerant figure may be what the filmmaker believed was essential in an increasingly intolerant India.
Scholar Raita Merivirta argues that the movie was a part of an ideological discourse and considers Jodhaa Akbar as a counter-narrative to the Hindutva ideology. (Merivirta, 2016). She claims that the film is shown as a post-2004 (after the BJP's electoral defeat) effort to re-advocate for Hindu-Muslim harmony. Considering the alliance to be an allegory, it produces a deeper message of co-existence and mutual tolerance in a heterogeneous country. Her argument is premised on an understanding that films are a product of their time.
Audiences: For Gowariker, his fascination with the story of the couple where love grew only after marriage is because he sees this as 'very common' among young Indian couples. In one of his interviews, he is quoted as saying that, 'the love and romance is my imagination, but the other 30 percent is from history books' (Marnie Hughes-Warrington, 2024). For all this attempt at authenticity, the film generated controversy and was subject to protests. One Rajput organization (Karni Sena) claimed the movie to be a ‘blatant distortion of history’ as for them, Jodhaa was married to Akbar’s son, Jahangir and that she was the daughter of Raja Bharmal of Mewar. They also claimed that depicting the Rajput princess as Akbar’s wife was insulting to Rajput heritage. People from such groups also moved the court seeking a ban on the release, which resulted in fewer screenings in Rajasthan (TNN, 2017). Even though, a large section of the audience appreciated the cinematographic skills of the production team and the great performances by the lead actors, this controversy draws our attention to identity politics and how communities, in this case Rajput, stake claim to historical figures and narratives, particularly how historical female figures and their ‘honour’ are linked to community honour. Should filmmakers be mindful of such sentiments when they make their film is a question worth debating.
Historians: Looking at filmmakers and audiences allows us to offer an appraisal of the context in which the film was produced. Historians, on the other hand, provide us with an analysis of the film from within. Mehraj Ahmed Mubarki, in his article, argues that Hindi cinema reflects the dominant culture which portrays the Muslim male as the ‘Other’. Muslims are depicted as foreign, having a distinct culture, and that this identity of ‘foreignness’ could only be managed or partially shed through assimilation or indigenization. In Jodhaa Akbar, the Mughal ruler could be shown as acceptable only under specific conditions and is placed within a broader narrative of Hindu-centric identity. Hence, he is shown as ‘quasi-Hindu’ (Mubarki, 2014), who, even though he practised Islam, became a secular figure.
This extended analysis of the film reveals the varying concerns that come together around the film as a cultural product. For both the filmmaker and the general audience, films are made or consumed based on their wants and desires. Not every film has a tight storyline or a meaningful script; yet some of the other elements, such as well-known actors, sound, music, and visuals, can provide a film with the much-coveted box office success. But most importantly, Jodhaa Akbar could probably attain the success it did because of its genre: romantic film, not necessarily because it was an accurate historical account. But for scholars and historians, they study biases and factual alterations and films as cultural texts and what they reveal about the systems and times in which it was produced. For example, the film romanticizes Akbar’s marriage to Jodhaa as a love match, though historians view it as a political alliance. It also omits his military campaigns against Rajput kingdoms—revealing more about modern India’s desire for communal harmony i.e. its socio-political aspirations than about historical fact.
References:
Deshpande, Aniruddh. “History and Cinema with Prof. Aniruddh Deshpande.” Shagufta Siddhi. Streamed live on March 21, 2021. Youtube video, 1:44:14. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q_2Gn2nODaA.
Jha, Subhash K. “Jodhaa Akbar Turns 16: When Ashutosh Gowariker Said ‘I’m Not Jingoistic, Jodhaa-Akbar’s Arranged Marriage Fascinated Me.’” Times Now. February 15, 2024. https://www.timesnownews.com/entertainment-news/bollywood/jodhaa-akbar-turns-16-when-ashutosh-gowariker-said-im-not-jingoistic-jodhaa-akbars-arranged-marriage-fascinated-me-article-107712690.
Merivirta, Raita. “Historical Film and Hindu–Muslim Relations in Post-Hindutva India: The Case of Jodhaa Akbar.” Quarterly Review of Film and Video 33, no. 5 (2016): 456-477. https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/full/10.1080/10509208.2015.1094331.
Mubarki, Meraj Ahmed. “Exploring the ‘Other’: inter-faith marriages in Jodhaa Akbar and beyond.” Contemporary South Asia 22, no. 3 (2014): 255-267. https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/epdf/10.1080/09584935.2014.930419?needAccess=true.
Talbot, Cynthia. “Anger and Atonement in Mughal India: An alternative account of Akbar’s 1578 hunt.” Modern Asian Studies 55, no. 5 (2021): 1413-1460. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0026749X21000172.
TNN. “Ashutosh defends Jodhaa Akbar.” The Times of India. February 28, 2008. https://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/entertainment/hindi/bollywood/news/ashutosh-defends-jodhaa-akbar/articleshow/2795254.cms.
TNN. “‘Jodhaa Akbar’ too felt the wrath of notorious Rajput Karni Sena.” The Times of India. January 29, 2017. https://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/city/jaipur/jodhaa-akbar-too-felt-the-wrath-of-notorious-sena/articleshow/56841956.cms.
[i] Whether Jodha Bai was the actual title of the historical figure is itself disputed, with some pointing out that ‘Akbar Nama’, the most classic historical account of Akbar’s period, does not mention anyone named Jodha Bai.
[ii] When I say fictive, I do not mean to say that it is wholly ‘wrong’ or a fantasy even. What I mean is that there are few scenes/segments of the film which have been reimagined for achieving the more important objective for any film: to reach out to the masses through an immersive journey into the imagined lavishness and grandeur of medieval courts (Jha, 2024)
Rethinking Braveheart: How Historical Films Engage the Public
Aditya Sunil
Historical films have a profound impact on the individual’s views of the past. The combination of spectacle, emotions and narratives gives rise to a form of history that is more accessible to a wider audience. In many instances, they not only recreate but also depict, reconstruct and interpret historical events and how those events relate to the current situation and what impact they might have on the future. An example of this is Braveheart (1995), written and directed by and starring Mel Gibson, which has shown that historical films generate viewer engagement and discussion regarding nationalism, political context and representation.
William Wallace’s story about opposing English domination in the 1300s has both entertained and educated many people around the world, especially when it comes to Scottish history. The filmmaking features dramatic storylines, stunning landscapes, and incredible, emotionally moving pieces of the film, such as Wallace’s 'freedom' speech. Both have captivated audiences and created a strong connection to the story being told. A film can affect public memory by making viewers remember the emotion of a film rather than the factual information about events that happened.
Interestingly, there are different points of view regarding a historical assumption that forms the basis of the main storyline: it has been widely believed that a single Scottish nation wanted freedom from England. However, there are many historians today who believe that the people in this period did not have this kind of national identity. Representatives of nations based on large territories and not on local loyalties to the feudal system or dynasties began to take shape in Europe during the latter half of the 18th century and the early half of the 19th century. Therefore, Wallace, as a symbol of a national folklore hero, who was one of the leaders of the Scots against England, reflects a more modern definition of what being a Nation meant over a period when those definitions were not present. The issue here is not simply a difference in historical accuracy—it is a re-conceptualization of history.
The reasons underlying the narrative choice of Braveheart as a film can also be seen through the wider historical and political circumstances of the film within the framework of the last decade of the century. During the 1990s, Epic, Historical and War Cinema established the concept of the heroic individual being the primary source of change through acts of self-sacrifice and acts of individual non-conformity being just and justly recognized by all of society. Films such as Dances with Wolves, Saving Private Ryan and later, The Patriot employ an almost identical Story Structure, where a charismatic male lead who resonates with the audience on an emotional level, while the character’s actions and sacrifices embody the concepts of freedom, justice and individuality (Rosenstone, 2006).
These movies arose from a larger cultural context in Anglo-American culture that primarily valued representations of resistance and liberation. After the Cold War had ended, more and more stories were created that championed and justified struggle, especially in relation to American movies. This is also true for Braveheart. While the film takes place in the Middle Ages (13th Century) in Scotland, it follows the structure & themes of contemporary cinema—specifically, the idea that freedom is a universal desire that transcends time and place.
The movie raised several questions about its accuracy, with several historians stating that it changed many facts to dramatize the story. For example, Scottish historian Alexander Grant states that Wallace was likely part of the 'minor nobility' instead of a 'poor peasant' as the film depicts. This helps characterize Wallace as an "everyday person" and therefore more relatable to today's audiences. This coincides with the current democratic view (which has historically associated heroism with fighting against oppression) that heroes are often common citizens who take a stand against those in power (Grant, 2007).
According to Scottish historian Elizabeth Ewan, Braveheart relies on broad generalizations to depict life in medieval Scotland and presents an overly simplistic view of society rather than portraying its complexity. The film reduces most women to either stereotypical emotional support or an embodiment of the man’s desire for action; therefore, the film does not allow the viewer to see women in the film as independent and capable persons. It is reflective of a general trend in historical films, whereby gender roles are simplified to fit the narrative needs of a particular story. By doing this, the film does not contribute to an understanding of social structures in medieval times but instead reproduces images that are familiar to contemporary audiences and obscures what actually happened historically (Ewan, 1995).
Filmmakers build their representation of history using cinematography as much as they do by writing the screenplay; however, there are differences based on how both aspects of film making display history visually versus verbally. Even though there isn't a large amount of factual evidence as to what a Scottish troop would actually have looked like during this time, some filmmakers want to create a particular type of aesthetic for the movie, which can create individuality and durability to the film itself. Therefore, the images produced for this movie can create both a sense of unity among Scots but also allow the viewers to easily identify with the Scottish characters, evoke emotion, and create a stylized history as opposed to factual history.
The film provides an overly simple version of history in relation to the depiction of the Battle of Stirling Bridge—specifically, the role of the bridge itself. In reality, the bridge was a key part of Wallace's overall plan to defeat a numerically superior English army based on weaker tactical considerations. However, the film does not include any reference to the bridge being a part of the battle, thus totally changing the nature of the conflict from one focused on military strategy to one focused on mere physical bravery and force. As a result, although this creates a far more dramatic visual experience for the audience and provides greater emotional engagement, the audience will likely have a very different view of what actually occurred at this historically important battle than could be achieved without modifying history.
Edward I of England represents the typical oversimplification of the historical drama by forming a central part of the main plot. He is presented as an evil and brutal ruler who opposes Wallace. This depiction heightens the emotions inherent to the film's storyline but ultimately creates an overly simplistic view of a difficult historical character. The duel between good versus evil characters is typical of historical films and allows the viewer to more easily understand the story. The reality of the historical events becomes hidden when framed through this simplistic narrative.
Significant conflict exists between historians, critics and viewers regarding narrative devices used in the medium of cinema. Some individuals argue that films like 'Braveheart' have an obligation to fairly depict actual events. For many viewers, movies are often the first place that they turn to for a reference point when it comes to understanding history. Critics of fictional representations of actual historical characters and events contend that presenting false images of real people and events perpetuates stereotypes about those individuals, continuously providing viewers with a false idea of what really happened in history. Conversely, some critics maintain that since the primary purpose of cinema is entertainment instead of education, there is nothing wrong with misrepresenting the facts of history to give a more dramatic presentation, which will capture an audience's interest and hold their attention longer than traditional storytellers would be able to do.
Braveheart ultimately shows that historical films don't just show how things happened in the past, but also build the way we look at things in the past. When you have both fact and fiction together with modern-day beliefs, films have a big impact on how people think about history and who they are based on those events. When Braveheart is compared to other historical movies of the 1990s, it is easy to see how heavily each has been shaped by the culture and politics of that time.
An effective way of examining these types of films is not to look at them solely through the lens of accuracy but as cultural texts that demonstrate both what they are showing about past events and what they say about the society that produced them. This will allow viewers to understand the significance of historical cinema and develop a more critical approach to their use of historical cinema.
References
Ewan, Elizabeth. “Braveheart,” The American Historical Review 100, no. 4 (1995): 1219–1221. https://www.jstor.org/stable/2168219.
Grant, Alexander. “Bravehearts and Coronets: Images of William Wallace and the Scottish Nobility.” In The Wallace Book, edited by Edward J. Cowan, 77-86. Edinburgh: John Donald, 2007.
Toplin, Robert Brent. Reel History: In Defense of Hollywood. Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2002.
Rosenstone, Robert A. History on Film/ Film History. London and New York: Routledge, 2023.
American Prometheus or American Amnesia?: The Making of American Myth in Oppenheimer
Yash Bhattacharjee
'Just because we’re building it, doesn’t mean we get to decide how it’s used' –so says J. Robert Oppenheimer, the scientist credited with creating the atomic bomb, to his fellow physicist Leo Szilard in the movie Oppenheimer. This dialogue reflects an agonizing realization among scientists that the Manhattan Project was immediately subjected to political and military decisions, not the scientists’ intentions. It foregrounds a broader tension between technological capability and ethical responsibility. This tension is also reflected in Oppenheimer’s invocation of the Bhagavad Gita, spoken just moments after the successful atomic explosion during the Manhattan Project: 'Now I am become Death, the destroyer of the worlds.' This quote signals recognition of the destructive potential unleashed through scientific innovation.
Released in 2023, Oppenheimer, directed by Christopher Nolan, revolves around the life of J. Robert Oppenheimer and focuses on his role in directing the development of the first atomic bomb during the Second World War. The film mostly explores the ethical dilemma, guilt and political scrutiny the scientist faced throughout his life after the explosion of the first atomic bomb at Los Alamos, New Mexico.
This essay is neither a mere piece of thematic exploration of the film nor a summary of the storyline. It analyses how the film constructs a specific mythology around its protagonist, Oppenheimer and nuclear science and what ethical, political and historical consequences emerge from the erasures this narrative requires. It draws on the concept of structural violence, developed by Johan Galtung (Galtung, 1969), to illuminate the broader implications of the film.
Visualising uncertainty in historical records
Aimee Slaughter argues in her article 'Nuclear Imaginaries and Power in Oppenheimer' published in the journal Technology and Culture, that Oppenheimer, through its complexly structured chronology, invites multiple interpretations rather than presenting a single authoritative historical account. The film repeatedly shows the same events through the perspectives of both Oppenheimer and former Atomic Energy Commission chairman Lewis Strauss, whose political conflict with Oppenheimer frames much of the latter half of the film. By doing this, the film acknowledges that historical narratives are shaped by the position and biases of the storyteller. This subjectivity is further reinforced through cinematic techniques, particularly the minimalistic score, which often grows louder during otherwise quiet scenes to reflect Oppenheimer’s inner thoughts and emotions. Even in moments where the historical record itself is uncertain, such as the death of Jean Tatlock, they are often represented through rapid and disorienting imagined flashbacks which projects the ambiguity of the available evidence instead of establishing a single objective truth.
The trope of the individual genius
Even so, the first thing a viewer notices is the way the film centres Oppenheimer as an individual subject. It privileges Oppenheimer’s internal experience to such an extent that the roles of other scientists, political actors and broader institutional structures become comparatively marginal. Slaughter argues that in doing so, the narrative constructs Oppenheimer as a distinctly Promethean figure, an individual whose creation transforms the world while becoming the source of his own moral anguish and eventual downfall.
A major argument from Slaughter is that the film portrays science and technology as an 'individualised work of a Masculine genius,' rather than an enterprise requiring collective effort. Although the Manhattan Project is known for its large-scale collective effort, the film downplays this and instead highlights isolated moments of intellectual brilliance. Scientific labour further continues to be abstracted through the stylised visualisation of particles and energy.
Slaughter also argues that the film partially interrogates the mythology surrounding Oppenheimer. She likens the portrayal of Oppenheimer to Shelley’s Ozymandias, a figure whose great works ironically lead to despair and whose power is fleeting. According to Slaughter, the film also exhibits moments of self-awareness—such as Kitty Oppenheimer’s accusation of Robert Oppenheimer embracing public suffering to assume the role of a martyr. Yet, Slaughter points out, this does not fully dismantle the myth. Despite the attempts to humanise Oppenheimer, the narrative predominantly continues to position Oppenheimer as a central figure instead of emphasizing the broader collective historical processes. As such, the film sustains the very mythology it gestures towards critiquing.
What does this exclusive focus on an individual leave out?
While Slaughter offers a conceptual and theoretical lens by highlighting the way Oppenheimer constructs a myth around the scientist by focusing on individual genius, this emphasis on subjectivity has significant ethical implications, particularly in terms of what and who the film leaves out.
Garima Malik (Malik, 2023) offers a sharply critical and ethical reading of Oppenheimer, as she argues that the value of life is undermined in the film by marginalising the human cost of the atomic bombings. She argues that the film is complicit in nuclearism, an ideology that devalues the lives of 'others' while portraying nuclear weapons as essential for safety and national power. This philosophy, she argues, creates a worldview prioritising violence over the lives of victims. This ethical failure is reinforced through the film’s aesthetic choices, particularly Nolan’s use of highly stylised visuals of stars and particles. Such representations aestheticize science and explosions, creating distance between the audience and the human cost. This aestheticization of explosion depicts the bombings as non-threatening and devoid of the hundreds of thousands of people they killed or injured.
Rather than foregrounding the suffering of those in Hiroshima and Nagasaki, where the atomic bombings devastated civilian populations on an unprecedented scale, the film projects Oppenheimer as a tragic figure. This creates a shift of attention from collective devastation to the near-total absence of victims, as the film avoids depicting real suffering and instead presents stylised, imagined scenes, such as Oppenheimer’s hallucination of a girl’s skin flaking off without visible pain. (Malik, 2023)
It may be argued that his absence aligns with the film’s commitment to Oppenheimer’s subjective experience, given that he himself was not a direct witness to the bombings. But this commitment is not without consequence. By limiting the narrative to this mediated perspective, the film renders the violence of Hiroshima and Nagasaki abstract and distant. This reinforces a framework where the psychological response takes precedence over material suffering. Malik notes that this results in a focus on abstract concerns about 'future destructions' instead of the 'present' death of victims.
Malik further contrasted this representational approach with Japanese atomic bomb literature (Hibakusha testimonies). The film treats these deaths as 'quasi-impersonal' and reconcilable, presenting the victims as already belonging to the 'past tense.' In contrast, Hibakusha testimonies humanise and mourn the dead, restoring their dignity. Consequently, the film’s portrayal of suffering becomes ego-centric, anchored in Oppenheimer’s personal turmoil rather than encompassing the experiences of those directly affected by the violence.
While Malik and Slaughter provide distinct yet complementary critiques of the film’s narrative, their insights can be brought together through a more systematic framework. The mythology surrounding Oppenheimer is not sustained by just a single narrative choice but through structured erasures that produce specific ethical and political consequences.
The film’s structural violence
The American Prometheus myth is not built around a single man; it is built upon a structured series of erasures that remove the elements that could disrupt the 'Lone Genius' narrative. These can be organised into three categories.
The mythology surrounding Oppenheimer is sustained through a series of erasures removing elements capable of a 'lone genius' narrative. Socially, the victims of Hiroshima and Nagasaki are treated as 'quasi-impersonal' and belonging to the past tense, which allows the overshadowing of the material reality of the suffering by Oppenheimer’s internal struggle. Epistemically, the large-scale collective enterprise of the Manhattan Project is downplayed and instead foregrounds the individual brilliance at the expense of institutional and collaborative labour. Visually, a distance is created from the physical devastation of nuclear violence through stylized depictions of the particles and energy. Taken together, the omissions reflect what Johann Galtung (1969) describes as structural violence: a silent process through which unequal power relations tend to marginalize certain lives, forms of knowledge and experiences from historical representation.
These erasures do not merely shape the representation, but they also enact a form of structural violence by systematically obscuring the lives, labour and suffering which would otherwise challenge the film’s central mythology.
By centering Oppenheimer’s subjectivity, the film establishes a moral hierarchy that prioritizes a Westerner’s psychological state over non-Western physical existence. Not only does the film marginalise victims, but it also puts their suffering as secondary to the protagonist’s internal turmoil. This transforms the mass death and destruction into a backdrop for personal tragedy. In doing so, the film displaces attention from material realities to violence to its psychological aftermath.
The film’s narrative structure also performs specific political work, which reinforces existing power dynamics and the ideology of nuclearism. One of the aspects to be discussed is the depoliticization of the bomb. The film reframes the development of the bomb as a personal Promethean struggle, shifting the attention from the political and military decision-making towards an individual ethical dilemma. By doing so, it diminishes the force of ethical objections raised by other scientists, thus presenting the bomb as an almost inevitable outcome of scientific progress rather than a calculated choice.
This narrative further contributes to the legitimisation of nuclear authority by framing nuclear weapons as essential for national security and global stability. By invoking the lofty ideals of saving lives while obscuring the immediate reality of mass death, the film sustains a framework that justifies the continued existence of nuclear power.
Finally, the film’s framing aligns the atomic bombing with American national memory. This presents the event as a chapter within U.S. political history rather than as a global humanitarian catastrophe. Though its focus on domestic political scrutiny and the construction of Oppenheimer as 'American Prometheus,' the narrative projects a form of selective remembrance that marginalises the experiences of the victims and sustains their absence within global historical consciousness.
In conclusion, Oppenheimer is significant not only because it recounts the life of J. Robert Oppenheimer but also because it demonstrates how popular cinema plays a role in constructing historical memory. By putting the scientist as a tragic 'lone genius', the film transforms a vast political, military, and scientific enterprise into an individual moral drama. As the analyses of Slaughter and Malik show, this narrative depends on the marginalization of collective scientific labor and the near absence of those who directly experience the violence of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. An examination of these omissions reveals that historical films do not merely represent the past but actively shape the ethical and political frameworks through which audiences understand the past. It is precisely this power of construction of history that makes Oppenheimer an important subject of critical analysis.
References
Galtung, Johan. “Violence, Peace, and Peace Research.” Journal of Peace Research 6, no. 3 (1969): 167–91. http://www.jstor.org/stable/422690.
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With editorial inputs from Mayukhi Ghosh.
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