All of Oppenheimer in One Scene

Photo credit: mauritius images / Alamy Stock Photos / CBW/Alamy Stock Photos / CBW

It is just past 5am as the countdown to the experiment begins. 20 minutes. It is dark out in a violent and oppressive way. Men are getting in position, leaving the testing site, getting on the ground, preparing their welding glasses, ready to protect their eyes from what will become the first atomic bomb drop. Rainwater from the storm, which has only just stopped is still dripping from every surface. In a small shack, closet after closet is unlocked, men looking at one another, not speaking a word. Unsure looks about putting a key into a hole are being appeased by a simple nod of the head. The nods produce a small box. The small box contains a large, red button. People are nervously looking out of tiny windows, looking at equipment, looking at the box with the button. The two-minute shot goes out. People start breathing faster, sweat is pooling on upper lips, men are adjusting their shirt collars and alternating between ruffling and straightening their hair. Oppenheimer is looking out of a small window, his eyes moving back and forth between the hole in the wall and the men nervously pacing around in the shack. One pair of eyes monitors the little box with the large red button. Now a hand starts hovering above it. Its fingers are shaking. The air is shaking. Men start counting down. Brows are furrowing, lips are bitten on. The button is pushed. The bomb goes off.

I brace for its impact. Everything goes silent. The bomb drops, it hits the ground, it explodes. Silence. Men breathing. Many men breathing in the silence. Humans in their purest form: breathing. Faces of men watching what they have built. The explosion expanding into vibrant red light. A mushroom rising up from nothing, dancing in the air endlessly. Beautiful. Captivating. Magnificent. Glorious.

I breathe out, noticing I have been holding my breath. I know: There is no happy ending to this. But, in this split second, I feel a visceral relief wash over me. It worked. Is it not sort of beautiful? It is red, it is orange, it is black. It is a harmonious dance of colours and textures. Light, playful. It expands and it becomes more and more vibrant.

I take a deep breath in, but it gets stuck in my throat because there is no more humanity. No more breathing. The sound comes in. there is nothing natural about it. The explosion rolls over me with a violence that is overwhelming. It is deafening. It feels like a slap in the face only on the entire body. I feel its power, its implications, its consequences. The contrast to the breath of relief just a second ago increases its power. I am floored by its devastation. A devastation that was not immediate. And, therefore, all the more mortifying.