Nuremberg is a very well-executed film. The craft is there — the acting, the dialogue, the pacing, the historical framing. And yet, for me, there’s something small missing. I can’t quite point to a single moment or choice, but the emotional weight of the circumstances didn’t hit quite as hard as I expected it to.
What the film does exceptionally well is lay out the impossible task facing the world at that moment in history. There was no precedent for prosecuting crimes of this scale. No case law. No playbook. They had to hold these men accountable without turning them into martyrs. They needed justice and they needed the world to clearly see the atrocities these men oversaw. The movie captures that tension with clarity and restraint.
One of the most striking elements is the portrayal of Hermann Göring. At first, he feels almost disarmingly human — charismatic, perceptive, even personable. The way he engages with Douglas feels genuine. He makes Douglas feel understood, even respected. But that changes in the courtroom. The moment where everyone rises and Göring intentionally doesn’t — holding just long enough to assert dominance before reversing the power dynamic by remaining standing when everyone else sits — it’s chilling. That is the moment he shifts from human to inhuman. And the film allows us to witness that transformation through Douglas’s eyes.
The archival footage of the camps is deeply affecting and necessary. I think where the film falls just short of its full emotional potential is in how contained that horror remains. The film is powerful — but I found myself wanting the weight of it to land harder, to the point that it shakes something loose.
Still, Nuremberg is a strong, well-acted historical drama. It will sit well with many viewers — and it’s absolutely worth watching.
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