by Tim Gordon
The weight of history bears heavily over Nuremberg, James Vanderbilt’s gripping and cerebral historical drama about the psychological reckoning that followed World War II. Adapted from Jack El-Hai’s 2013 book The Nazi and the Psychiatrist, the film examines the uneasy relationship between American psychiatrist Douglas Kelley (Rami Malek) and captured Nazi leader Hermann Göring (Russell Crowe) as the Nuremberg Trials loom.
With Hitler dead and the Nazi regime dismantled, the Allied powers face a monumental task: holding the architects of genocide accountable. Before the trials can begin, Kelley is assigned to evaluate the mental competence of Göring and other members of the German High Command. What follows is not just an assessment of sanity but a harrowing exploration of evil, ego, and ideology.
From their first meeting, the film crackles with intellectual tension. Kelley, skeptical but determined, quickly realizes that Göring’s clumsy use of a translator is an act, a manipulative ploy by a man still playing politics from his prison cell. Their dynamic becomes a psychological chess match, with Kelley probing for truth and moral understanding while Göring counters with charm, manipulation, and unapologetic pride.
As Kelley expands his evaluations to other captured Nazi officials, he begins to see distinct shades of complicity and delusion. Yet, it is Göring who proves most elusive, his charisma masking the monstrousness of his crimes. Against his better judgment, Kelley begins to feel a grudging respect for his subject’s intellect, even as he witnesses the depths of Göring’s denial. Their relationship teeters uneasily between fascination and revulsion, mirroring the audience’s own confrontation with the complexity of evil.
Running parallel to this psychological battle is the legal one led by Robert H. Jackson (Michael Shannon), the U.S. Chief of Counsel tasked with defining the moral and judicial framework for the Nuremberg Trials. Jackson’s mission is clear: to prosecute fascism without turning its leaders into martyrs. His determination to make history, while upholding justice, provides a sobering counterpoint to Kelley’s internal conflict.
Vanderbilt intercuts these two struggles, the courtroom and the interrogation room, to compelling effect. As the trials progress, archival footage of concentration camp atrocities is projected on-screen, grounding the narrative in the visceral reality of genocide. The stark horror of the images cuts through any attempt to humanize the perpetrators. Whatever sympathy may flicker during Göring’s exchanges with Kelley is obliterated by the magnitude of their crimes.
At the film’s core are two powerhouse performances. Russell Crowe commands the screen as Göring, delivering one of his most complex turns in years. He imbues the disgraced Reichsmarschall with arrogance, wit, and chilling conviction, capturing both the magnetism and moral rot that defined one of history’s most notorious figures. Rami Malek matches him with precision and restraint, portraying Kelley as a man torn between duty, curiosity, and the gnawing question of whether understanding evil risks legitimizing it. His fascination is rooted in a haunting realization that “the only clue to what man can do is what man has done.” That insight drives both his obsession and the film’s moral inquiry, forcing viewers to question whether studying darkness can ever truly keep it from returning.
Supporting performances by John Slattery as prison commandant Burton Andrus and Michael Shannon as Jackson bring texture and gravitas, while Colin Hanks and Leo Woodall round out the ensemble with understated strength.
Vanderbilt, best known for writing Zodiac and Truth, directs with clarity and control, blending procedural precision with moral inquiry. His visual style favors muted tones and confined spaces, reflecting the claustrophobia of postwar reckoning. Yet beneath the film’s restraint lies an emotional urgency, a recognition that the questions raised at Nuremberg remain frighteningly relevant today. Vanderbilt’s direction leading up to and following the trial’s verdict leaves nothing to chance. Every emotional beat feels earned, and every visual decision deliberate. The result is an old-school historical drama, the kind of prestige filmmaking that would have drawn multiple Oscar nominations a few decades ago.
Nuremberg is not a courtroom spectacle but a moral autopsy. It probes the psychology of perpetrators and the limits of empathy in the face of atrocity. While its pacing leans deliberate and its tone solemn, Vanderbilt’s film rewards patience with a haunting meditation on guilt, accountability, and the seductive nature of power.
By the time the verdicts are read, the film has made its argument: justice may prevail in the courtroom, but the battle for the human soul is never fully won.
Grade: B+