Some films transcend simple critique, leaving a profound internal impact, regardless of whether they are deemed good or bad, or even exceptional—you simply know something has shifted within you. Such is the effect of A House of Dynamite, directed by and premiering at the . The movie is meticulously crafted, powerful, and brilliantly structured. Yet, even as it details the practicalities of how the United States government might react to a nuclear strike, it also possesses an ethereal, surreal quality. Without explicitly stating details, it uncovers numerous global realities we would rather not contemplate. Who wishes to confront the unthinkable? Bigelow has delivered a contemporary, real-world horror film that disturbs precisely by what it omits.
There are no conventional heroes in , nor are there clear villains, which is precisely what makes this film so disorienting. The premise is stark and simple: a nuclear missile is heading for the American Midwest, but its origin remains unknown. If it isn’t intercepted, it will hit its target in approximately 20 minutes. The movie unfolds within this brief timeframe, with events recounted from multiple viewpoints, including that of a young major stationed in the Pacific (), a disillusioned deputy advisor thrust into a role he feels unprepared for (Gabriel Basso), a Secretary of Defense grappling with the unfolding catastrophe (Jared Harris), and finally, the President himself (), a man who, it is suggested, is relatively new to the job when the crisis erupts. Nearly every one of these individuals has a family or loved one at home. While striving to prevent impending disaster, they also make discreet, brief phone calls to the people they care about. If this marks the beginning of the end of the world, they need to connect, if only for a few seconds, with those who matter most in their world.
Major Daniel Gonzales, portrayed by Ramos, and his crew spot the missile, launched from somewhere in the Pacific, and immediately spring into action, aiming to intercept it. In Washington, Captain Olivia Walker (), receives his report and responds with apprehension rather than panic—the initial belief being that it’s a misreading or an error. Harris’s Secretary of Defense Reid Baker eventually appears on a video call, cantankerously alert but not yet panicked, though his demeanor changes when he learns the missile might hit Chicago, where his daughter resides. Information about each character is conveyed economically: We learn that Basso’s deputy security advisor Jack Baerington is dissatisfied with his job, feeling his talents are underutilized, until he’s compelled to answer crucial questions for his boss, who is traveling and unreachable. And for several seemingly endless minutes, the POTUS is absent, his video screen in the Situation Room remaining a blank square. Where is he? The quiet activity of the room escalates to a low hum of tension. A cantankerous general, Tracy Letts’s Anthony Brady, braces himself for orders: Will the President decide to counterattack? And how will he know what to do, when no one knows who is responsible?
As the minutes tick by, more urgent calls go out to various specialists and experts: Ana Park (Greta Lee), an authority on North Korean politics, is annoyed when her cellphone buzzes on her day off. (She’s spending it with her child at a Battle of Gettysburg re-enactment.) A FEMA official, played by Moses Ingram’s Cathy Rogers, receives news that she’s going to be rushed to safety in a bunker—beyond that, she has no idea what’s happening, because no one has any clarity on the situation. The movie is structured into sections, each showcasing this unsettling turn of events—remember, it’s only 20 or so minutes of time—from a different character’s perspective. Lines of dialogue are repeated from section to section; sometimes we’ll see a character saying something we’d previously heard only as part of a phone call, and the context subtly shifts. A seemingly innocuous piece of information—as when a character says, “One minute to intercept”—becomes more tense, not less, each time you hear it. It’s all part of a shifting mosaic that changes shape and tone from second to second.
A House of Dynamite is among the most stressful viewing experiences I’ve had in years. It’s a film featuring a seemingly endless array of moving parts, cut with diamond precision. (Kirk Baxter is the editor.) In researching the movie, screenwriter Noah Oppenheim—who was president of NBC News before he began writing for film—interviewed current and former military specialists and others who have spent decades preparing for a catastrophic nuclear event, even as the rest of us go about our daily routines. Ignorance may be bliss, but how much of it can we afford?
Bigelow assembles the film with the exactitude of a fighter pilot. It sometimes seems incomprehensible that this is only her 11th full-length feature film; she is one of those filmmakers who selects and executes her projects with meticulous care, and this one feels particularly urgent. In the years after the U.S. bombed , Americans were haunted by the possibility of nuclear warfare. Our fears also surfaced in movies, in Cold War dramas like Sidney Lumet’s 1964 Fail Safe or apocalyptic thrillers like Stanley Kramer’s 1959 On the Beach. Yet somehow, even though the chances of nuclear destruction have only increased in the decades since, we now think about it less. Bigelow wanted to make the film, she says in the movie’s press notes, as a way of confronting the reality that the world could end in the space of a few heartbeats: “Multiple nations possess enough nuclear weapons to end civilization within minutes, and yet there’s a kind of collective numbness, a quiet normalization of the unthinkable.” A House of Dynamite presents one particularly terrifying possibility. What if you, your family, and your community were wiped out in a flash or, probably worse, left to survive in a scorched, barren world? And if the scenario of A House of Dynamite were to unfold in real life, whom would you want at the helm of the government, making potentially world-ending decisions? Bigelow takes the unthinkable and places it directly before us. We can disregard the alarm if we wish. But that doesn’t mean it’s not blaring.
