It’s about how a curious mind tries to unsettle the discourse of the evermore age-old rhythm of philosophy.

The minds behind Nuremberg

The story centres on the unlikely and deeply uncomfortable relationship between Hermann Göring, the most powerful Nazi to survive the war, and Dr Douglas Kelley, the American psychiatrist assigned to determine whether Nazi leaders were mentally fit to stand trial.

The assignment grew out of a postwar idealism that insisted the architects of genocide be judged, not simply executed. Kelley enters Nuremberg believing in that mission, but also sensing opportunity. He wants to understand evil, and he wouldn’t mind writing a book about it.

Charisma meets Menace

Russell Crowe’s Göring is the film’s most arresting presence. Crowe plays him not as a snarling monster, but as a man who radiates confidence, someone who knows exactly how to command a room. It’s a disarming performance.

Göring jokes, reminisces, flatters, and lectures, and his charming yet sinister way of controlling a room right under his grasp manifests throughout the film. When flashes of menace break through his affable surface, they land harder precisely because they come from someone who otherwise seems so at ease.

Rami Malek, in my opinion, gives his best film performance to date as Kelley, a man who prides himself on being perceptive and emotionally intelligent—perhaps too much so. Malek plays him as sharp, charming, and self-assured, but also ethically shaky. Much of Kelley’s work happens in silence. He believes that empathy gives him control, that his insight sets him apart from others who might be fooled by Göring. The film quietly suggests the opposite—that this confidence is exactly what makes him vulnerable. And he didn’t even know it.

From the beginning, Kelley’s moral footing is shaky. He insists on doctor-patient confidentiality even in a military prison, but that principle erodes as soon as prosecutors ask him to share details that might help secure convictions. Göring senses the weakness immediately. 

He flatters Kelley, treats him like a peer, and convinces him that their conversations are something special. Whether Göring’s occasional slips, such as pretending not to understand English, are genuine mistakes or deliberate tests remains chillingly unclear. Crowe played him so well it’s as if I could feel his presence.

The screenplay, adapted by Eric Roth, wisely allows moments of dark humour to surface. Like the best historical dramas, it understands that absurdity often coexists with horror. Göring’s rhetorical tricks, especially his habit of deflecting blame with whataboutism, feel uncomfortably modern. 

When he challenges Kelley by pointing to Allied bombings and civilian deaths, the argument is morally bankrupt but rhetorically effective. Something you see strong diplomats do in modern-day UNGA meetings. The film doesn’t endorse these tactics, but it shows how persuasive they can be when delivered with confidence.

When morality falters

At just over two hours, Nuremberg can’t fully explore every ethical question it raises. The trial itself feels shorter than expected after so much buildup, and several supporting figures remain lightly sketched. 

As if the cinema was hurried in the end. Still, Michael Shannon brings gravitas to Supreme Court Justice Robert H. Jackson, and the surrounding cast provides enough texture to convey the enormity of what was at stake.

What ultimately makes Nuremberg compelling is its refusal to simplify. It doesn’t treat evil as something alien or easily identified.

Instead, it shows how a morally incoherent human can ever so slightly change the fabric of reality to manipulate and change the course of a conversation. Its portrayal of evil is something that’s lost in modern-day cinemas. A captivating cinema that questions your very belief of evil. That, I believe, is what Crowe, Hermann Göring, was highly successful at.