Can you hear the music?

I bought a poster of the film Oppenheimer and I framed it, without first answering the question of whether I actually wanted a poster of Oppenheimer framed in my home. It’s the only movie poster that I own, should it really be the first? This question consumes me. I really like the movie, don't get me wrong. For one thing, the themes are very sharp. It's a biting portrayal of the American military, and his central character is made of complex lights and shadows. It's also an unforgettable theatre experience. I went to see it three times in theatres and my first time it was in an IMAX 70mm presentation. The third time that I watched it, I realized I was waiting incessantly for one sequence in particular. And it wasn't the one with the big explosion.

The moment comes pretty early in the film. Oppenheimer goes to see Niels Bohr and he’s told “The important thing isn’t can you read music, it’s can you hear it. Can you hear the music, Robert?” A simple “Yes, I can” launches us into a frenzy meant to overload the senses. It starts with the beauty of nature. Then through the magic of the montage, it goes directly to show the beauty of knowledge: him taking classes, him studying, etc. There's abstract intercuts each representing the scientific concept he's acquiring, which are genuinely breathtaking at that scale. Remember, I'm watching this on a 70 feet screen projected with a 70mm projector.

There's an image that takes my breath away even more, if that's possible. Oppenheimer looks directly at the camera. The reverse shot is a painting. The movie looks directly at me, and I look right back. The intercut shot is the textures underneath the painting, as if the silver halide crystals of the film in front of my eyes were being revealed to me. I can see the screen in front of me the way Oppenheimer sees the world around him.

I can feel the filmmaking of the sequence in my own body. I sense the tempo of the atoms in my chest, the awe of the stars behind my eyes, the crash of the glass underneath my stomach. I’ve always said that what I love most about cinema is its visceral nature, how it’s an experience that’s lived in the whole body, not just in the eyes. This sequence is one of the most perfect representations of that, not only because it provokes that experience but also because it shows it so perfectly.

The sequence reaches a point where there’s just multiple waves of light going through the screen faster and faster, as the beautiful song “Can You Hear the Music” by Ludwig Göransson comes to its crescendo. The seat beneath me rumbles as Robert sees his craft come together before his eyes. This one montage is a true memorable experience. I haven't felt anything like that in a movie theatre before or since.

It's also, in my opinion, the emotional core of the whole movie. Oppenheimer asks us to empathize with the creator of the atomic bomb. The very simple but effective way Nolan does it is by drawing a parallel between Oppenheimer and an artist. “Algebra’s like sheet music,” says Bohr. But you don't need to love art to empathize: the desire to get better at something is very human. There's an uncomfortable wrinkle too: the desire to be recognized for our talents is very human too. By the time Oppenheimer is seeing the recruiters of the job he wants around his office, I'm kind of rooting for him to get it. I must come to terms with that while watching the film. Would I also invent an atomic bomb just to get the opportunity to do my craft at the highest possible level? I would hope not, but is the capitalistic idealism I grew up in so ingrained in my DNA that I can delude myself like he does to avoid following my principles?

Nolan shows Oppenheimer being smart and knowledgeable multiple times, but the Can You Hear the Music sequence shows something even more important than that: a person enamoured with his craft to a degree that makes him enamoured with life itself. He’s fascinated by the fabric behind every experience around us. A person like that not only would be a great physicist, but also a great artist. That makes his fate and this moment sad too. The whole movie is tainted by that opening scene, in which he looks completely consumed by dread, as if he knows his fate. Watching this montage is overwhelming and electric but also tragic.

The scene is anchored by that beautiful piece of music that I mentioned before, composed by the talented Ludwig Göransson. He mentioned in a Variety interview that he based it on the idea of getting better at something, which is of course perfect, as I mentioned already that it's the very human anchor behind it. When you’re first learning a piece of music, you play it slow and then you increase the tempo little by little, just like the song’s tempo changes moment by moment. It's a brilliant idea, and also so simple that I can't believe no one had thought of it before. Or maybe no one had accomplished it this beautifully.

The tragedy behind the moment is represented in the music too, as a distorted synth that reminds us of the doom of the future. It sounds exactly like an emergency siren. This danger is, of course, extremely appropriate and specific for Oppenheimer. As a more general idea, I believe it's present in any artistic endeavour. Art can be a source of upheaval, both for society and for the individual. The wrong effective idea can spread and destroy the world too. How can I be really sure it's not my effective idea?

The tragedy of the Can You Hear the Music sequence is that it comes very early in Oppenheimer’s running time. We still have more than 2 hours left of movie. For Robert, this means that his child-like wonder will slowly be perturbed by ego. Robert's fascination for the forces of nature won't be enough to stop his desire of harnessing the power of the universe. And he will be questioned and crucified by a “self-made” American politician not because of guilt but because of envy. Everything goes back to that montage. He has something not everyone has, and it's not enough to admire it or hate it, it has to be harnessed.

It's undeniable that when I look out the window I see a world full of war and oppression, the same world the movie is arguing was created through the actions of everyone in this film. Oppenheimer might have actually destroyed the world. And yet when I see and hear Can You Hear the Music, I forget. Just for a second, I delude myself into thinking maybe Robert will make a different choice this time. Maybe this time it will be different. The scene portrays such a joyful and beautiful human experience that I can't stop myself of thinking this way. It sweeps me off my feet.

I don't know for sure if I can hear the music. I think I've been able to hear it before, underneath films I love. This scene inspires me to pay attention to it without forgetting that the work doesn't end there. We need to know our values. The important thing isn’t can you hear the music, it’s can you distinguish the right notes from the wrong ones?