The same can be said of the few other women that crop up in the course of the story: Emma Dumont’s Jackie Oppenheimer, the communist-leaning wife of J.

It’s worth adding that Pugh does all she can to bring depth and nuance to the character, but she’s so underserved by the writing that it’s basically impossible. In classic Nolan fashion, her death torments Oppenheimer as he gears up for the most important moment of his career: the Trinity nuclear test. This becomes a running joke and her defining feature until the point when, during his marriage to Kitty, Oppenheimer pays her another clandestine visit, after which Tatlock-spoiler alert-drowns herself in her bathtub. Who is this reportedly brilliant psychoanalyst and physician who introduced Oppenheimer to radical politics? All we’re told about her is that she’s lovestruck and emotionally turbulent, confounding him with a flurry of mixed messages-she calls him, but asks him not to answer and tells him she hates flowers, but accepts the bouquets he brings her before binning them. As the sultry and mysteriously troubled Tatlock, she shimmies into view at a party, making eyes at Oppenheimer and purring about communism. The critically acclaimed actor, who’s delivered unforgettable performances in everything from Lady Macbeth to Midsommar, and has been on the verge of an Oscar win ever since her scene-stealing turn in Little Women, is here given her most inconsequential role in years. However, this is much more than what Pugh is afforded. But then again, even in this virtuosic scene, her value lies wholly in the fact that she’s an asset to Oppenheimer someone who serves him effectively in this moment and someone we still know so little about.

Blunt is dazzling as ever and, for a second, you forget that Kitty has been entirely sidelined for the past two and a half hours. Yes, there are more erratic sequences of her shouting and smashing glass, but also one in which she testifies at Oppenheimer’s hearing, running circles around the men who seek to trap her. It’s in the film’s final act, though, that Blunt gets some space to shine. And then there’s Dunkirk which, of course, has no named female characters at all. Beyond that, however, it’s a veritable wasteland of dead wives who serve to motivate the male leads (Jorja Fox in Memento, Piper Perabo and Rebecca Hall in The Prestige, Marion Cotillard in Inception, Matthew McConaughey’s character’s wife in Interstellar) dead love interests (Lucy Russell in Following, Maggie Gyllenhaal in The Dark Knight) murdered teenage girls (Crystal Lowe in Insomnia) women desperately in need of rescuing (Katie Holmes in Batman Begins, Elizabeth Debicki in Tenet) dead villains (Marion Cotillard in The Dark Knight Rises, Dimple Kapadia in Tenet) and peppy sidekicks (Hilary Swank in Insomnia, Scarlett Johansson in The Prestige, Elliot Page in Inception, Anne Hathaway in The Dark Knight Rises). There are arguably a couple of exceptions-perhaps Anne Hathaway and Jessica Chastain’s NASA scientists in Interstellar, though they, too, are largely defined by their relationships with the men in the film. However, these thrills are almost always accompanied by what I consider to be the auteur’s Achilles heel: namely, a penchant for populating his films with severely under-developed female characters. From The Prestige to The Dark Knight, Inception to Dunkirk, I can never resist his particular brand of steely, high-concept blockbusters-their knotty plots, epic cinematography, thundering scores, sleek interiors, and mysterious and tortured protagonists. Let me begin by saying that I worship at the altar of Christopher Nolan.

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