Imagine sitting face-to-face with one of history’s most notorious figures, not as a conqueror or a victim, but as a psychiatrist tasked with unraveling the mind behind the madness. This is the chilling premise of Nuremberg, a film that dares to humanize the inhuman while grappling with the moral complexities of justice. At the end of World War II, U.S. Army psychiatrist Douglas Kelley (Rami Malek) is assigned a daunting mission: evaluate the mental health of Nazi commanders, including Hermann Göring (Russell Crowe), the second-in-command of the Third Reich, ahead of the groundbreaking Nuremberg Trials. These trials marked the first time individuals were held accountable for war crimes, setting a precedent that still resonates today.
Clocking in at just under 150 minutes, James Vanderbilt’s Nuremberg is a gripping exploration of this historic moment. The film’s core lies in the psychological sparring between Kelley and Göring, a relationship that blurs the lines between empathy and revulsion. Russell Crowe’s portrayal of Göring is nothing short of mesmerizing—a towering figure, both physically and intellectually, whose calculated blend of righteousness, fury, and narcissism creates a character that is as fascinating as he is terrifying. But here’s where it gets controversial: as Kelley spends hundreds of hours with Göring, he begins to form a connection that raises unsettling questions. Can we—or should we—empathize with the architects of evil? And this is the part most people miss: the film forces us to confront the uncomfortable truth that even the most monstrous individuals are, at their core, human.
Despite its weighty subject matter, Nuremberg isn’t without moments of levity. Vanderbilt injects a surprising sense of humor, using sharp smash-cuts to lighten the tone without undermining the gravity of the story. Yet, he never loses sight of the material’s importance. This is particularly evident in the film’s most harrowing scene: the first public screening of Holocaust footage during the trial. Vanderbilt handles this moment with profound respect, intercutting the brutal imagery with the devastated reactions of those watching. It’s a pivotal scene, a linchpin that anchors the film’s emotional core, and Vanderbilt’s thoughtful direction ensures its impact is both visceral and lasting.
That said, the film isn’t without its flaws. At times, the balance between entertainment and message falters, as in a crucial confrontation between prosecutor Robert Jackson (Michael Shannon) and Göring, which is undermined by unnecessary asides. It’s a minor but frustrating misstep—the scene is already powerful enough without the added commentary. Yet, these moments are rare, and Nuremberg largely succeeds in delivering its message with force and clarity. The cast is uniformly exceptional, with Leo Woodall standing out as translator Howie Triest, delivering a monologue that will leave audiences in tears.
Nuremberg may not be the first or the best film about the Nuremberg Trials—Stanley Kramer’s Judgment at Nuremberg (1961) still holds that title—but it offers a fresh perspective by delving into the psychological dimensions of this historic event. It’s a worthy addition to the canon of films about the Holocaust, serving as both a sweeping historical drama and an urgent call to resist fascism. Well-paced, expertly performed, and unapologetically bold, Nuremberg forces us to confront the darkest corners of humanity while reminding us of the enduring importance of justice.
But here’s the question that lingers long after the credits roll: Can understanding the humanity of evil ever justify it? Let us know your thoughts in the comments—this is a debate worth having.
