There is a specific, almost masochistic ritual that happens on a Friday night. You have the entire weekend ahead of you. You could watch a comedy, laugh for 90 minutes, and forget it by Saturday brunch. You could watch an action film, watch things explode, and feel vaguely adrenalized.

Just don’t forget the tissues.

Cillian Murphy’s J. Robert Oppenheimer is not a hero. He isn't even a tragic hero in the classical sense. He is a vessel for ambition, guilt, and self-destruction. The film’s central triumph isn't the Trinity test explosion (which is terrifyingly beautiful), but the third act—a quiet, paranoid hearing that feels more claustrophobic than any horror movie.