Learning To Love The Bomb

The story of the Manhattan Project, which saw the Unites States lead a team of international scientists developing the first nuclear weapon, has gone down in popular legend: Einstein (that most cuddly of nuclear physicists) recommending that the US begin work on ‘extremely powerful bombs’, mushroom clouds above the New Mexican desert, and J. Robert Oppenheimer quoting the Bhagavad Gita - it’s all been burned onto our collective consiousness. Such a thing was surely a mixed blessing to playwright Tom Morton-Smith, whose production detailing the creation of ‘The Bomb’, Oppenheimer, has transferred to London’s West End, following a critically acclaimed run in Stratford-upon-Avon. When the public believe that they have a good grasp on a piece of history - as I am sure a lot of people do about the Manhattan Project - it can be difficult to make them see any other way; however, with Oppenheimer Morton-Smith has created a finely scripted historical drama, which sticks closely to the truth whilst still being entertaining, no doubt thanks to the fine cast of the Royal Shakespeare Company.

We begin with the Einstein-Szliárd letter, in which Roosevelt was warned about the possibility of Hitler developing an atomic weapon; as a result, the brilliant J. Robert Oppenheimer, or ‘Oppie’ - communist, radical, genius - is called up to direct a team of internationally renowned scientists (those working on the project would eventually come to include twenty Nobel laureates). Moving from the west coast to Los Alamos, New Mexico, whose empty deserts allow scientific inspiration to ‘find’ Oppie; as his passion for the project builds, Oppenheimer sacrifices his friends, his family, and his very morality in pursuit of scientific achievement. John Heffernan is brilliant as Oppenheimer, creating a cocktail of a character who is one part smooth, sophisticated revolutionary, one part mad scientist. Ben Allen and Tom McCall are wonderful in their respective roles of Edward Teller and Hans Bethe, one all cold Hungarian intelligence, the other a model of Teutonic good-naturedness. Similarly, Catherine Steadman brings a bold physicality to her role of Jean Tatlock, the doomed lover of Oppenheimer, who first introduced him to radical politics - it’s a pity, then, that her part isn’t nearly as fleshed out as I would have liked.

It is easy, with the privilege of hindsight, to condemn the naivety of the scientists involved. When Oppenheimer claims that the nuclear bomb would mark ‘an end to all war’, we can sit smug in our tower of dramatic irony, surveying the wreckage of Sarajevo, of Georgia, of Gaza; but to take such an attitude is to belittle the intentions of the scientists involved. What Oppenheimer does particularly well is help to return the nuance to the arguments surrounding the Manhattan Project: it was not a simple case of American dominance, but rather a campaign borne out of the fear that the Nazis would get there first. The fact that a number of the scientists working at Los Alamos had fled the seemingly-unstoppable tide of European fascism helps to make the issue a lot more complex than it may appear at first.

However, there are points within the production when this desire to promote debate over stretches itself; the result is a number of lengthy near-monologues in which the characters grapple with the moral confusion working on such a project can bring, leading to a runtime which - at three hours long - certainly feels like a bit of a drag. Perhaps as time goes on the cast will be able to deliver such paragraphs with a bit more pace, but it seems like Tom Morton-Smith’s script could certainly do with a little bit of editing down. On a similar note, there are elements of the play where subtle symbolism can spill over into psychological heavy-handedness: Oppenheimer can’t feel love for his baby because the bomb is his child; the shroud of secrecy under which the project is carried out is closer to fascism than the socialism that he so loved; the scientists always have purely knowledge-based motivations, while the military (boo!) are only interested in personal gain. While these elements don’t happen too often, they do feel like missteps, jerking us out of the action with a sharp tug.

They are, however, partially offset by the skill with which Morton-Smith deals with the scientific aspects of the story - he manages to strike a fine balance between over- and under-information. As an audience we don’t feel spoken down to when the cast begin describing the structure of the atom (or at least, I didn’t; perhaps if you’re doing a PhD in nuclear physics such things may seem a bit more slow), but the theory never takes precedence over the plot; instead the two aspects work in perfect tandem, with one building and developing the other. This is helped by the clever staging design, which gives every surface the ability to become a blackboard - a clever nudge towards the stereotype of the genius scientist, madly scribbling away on any available space. The set it dominated by the interlinking girders upon which the atomic bomb descends during the Trinity Test; like a pig-iron sword of damocles, they remind the viewer that there is only one way things can end: Hiroshima, Nagasaki, and over 100,000 dead.

Despite what Brian Cox’s popularity would seem to tell us, it’s still difficult to make science ‘sexy’ (although perhaps not physics: the number of people applying for physics degrees has increased by 40% over four years). Therefore, we should applaud director Angus Jackson, who manages to steer his RSC cast through a script that, despite a few areas of weakness, is generally extremely solid. Subatomic physics has rarely looked so good.

Oppenheimer is on at London's Vaudeville Theatre until 23rd May. Tickets from £25, available online.