Towards the end of “Nuremberg” a washed up psychiatrist—discharged from the U.S. military for leaking secrets to the media when drunk—appears on a radio station swigging neat whisky and chain-smoking his way through an angry, resentful exchange with representatives of a very ungrateful nation. In the on-screen notes that immediately follow we learn that Dr Douglas Kelley’s book—the subject of “Nuremberg”—was a failure and he committed suicide a decade or so later in the same way as had his subject, Hermann Göring, the deputy leader of the Nazis, by cyanide pill. Dr Kelley has been completely outfoxed; he has been played. But he has also been played by the U.S.; presumed to be willing to hand over his notes from a thousand hours of patient/doctor psychiatric analysis for patriotic reasons. The hours that the doctor and the patient spend together can be considered the primary concern of “Nuremberg” (Sky Originals), showing now at the Montrose Playhouse. This is tightly fastened to the “trial of the century” which gave that city an indelible linkage, in the same way as, say, Nagasaki, to the close of, or immediate aftermath of, the Second World War. The military’s orders are to secure a courthouse previously devastated by their own bombers and to restore it to a venue fitting for what are now known as the Nuremberg Trials, and to keep the twenty-two captured Nazi criminals alive until their day in court—“we cannot afford any more losses.”
When briefed about his mission, Dr Kelley, played by Rami Malek, points out that “it’s a lot to process.” The military are suspicious of psychiatrists and the commander, competently played by John Slattery, indicates the hostile tone of his future exchanges with Dr Kelley with the stiff reply, “Try to do it faster.” Dr Kelley starts with picture association cards; at this stage we meet some of the other defendants—but the overriding axis is with Göring. In any event, the military become suspicious of Dr Kelley and order a second military psychiatrist, Dr Gustave Gilbert, to come to Nuremberg to take charge of the prisoners. The two short scenes between the two psychiatrists—illustrating as they do how oversized ego and professional rivalry can become obsession and hatred—are the best in the film. Dr Kelley is keeping a material secret from Göring; Dr Gilbert reveals it with a sneer. “That was me being honest with my patient. Something you ought to try sometime,” he says just before they start fighting. The earlier scene, where Dr Gilbert suggests that they co-author the future book, facilitates one of the best flounce-out-of-a-room scenes I have ever seen. “Good luck with your tests,” Dr Kelley says, patronisingly. Then he pats his rival on the shoulder, jerks his chin upwards contemptuously and closes the door on his way out.
Russell Crowe’s Göring, mostly confined to his Nuremberg prison, about which he tells Dr Kelley, “This is exactly where I desire to be,” is callous and haughty and mischievous and calculating and obese. These treacherous jail-cell scenes, each well-lit and tricky to parse because of their striking ambiguity, are the film’s centre of gravity. Before Dr Kelley arrives, Göring is dishonest about his understanding of English, which is sometimes translated by a military sergeant, an excellent character played by Leo Woodall, who at one point becomes suspicious too—“What you doing doc?” We can see that Dr Kelley has drifted way beyond a professional boundary, breaking the rules by personally delivering Göring’s letters to his family and teaching him magic tricks and playing cards with him. And Göring is giving Dr Kelley enough rope with which to hang himself. Have they broached an even more serious taboo and become friends? “Are you asking me this as a friend,” Göring asks. “I am,” Dr Kelley replies, deceitfully. “What I did, I did for my country,” Göring replies, giving away nothing. Why does Dr Kelley react with such furious white heat when he hears that Göring’s family have been arrested (which only the irredeemably naïve would think a surprise)—hammering at doors, yelling at full volume, speaking far too fast? And why does he school his card tricks to Göring’s daughter? Has Dr Kelley, like the twenty-one other prisoners, become a sycophant?
All of these questions matter because this is the part of the Nuremberg Trials that the filmmakers have chosen to highlight. Their gift is to accentuate the pivotal difference between their two principal characters. They explain why Göring is so smug and unruffled during his trial—he is morally unconflicted and unwavering in his belief that he is right. Mr Crowe’s role demands that, despite his imminent death, he doesn’t change. What is demanded of Mr Malik, who starred in “The Amateur,” an excellent film which I reviewed in April, is the exact opposite: Dr Kelley changes beyond all recognition between his entrance and exit from the stage. Dr Kelley is too flawed, too unsure of his moral compass, and finally too tricky to be a sympathetic character—I was left with the firm impression that he wanted to leak those secrets, and maybe even to help Göring.
The third ambitious man is a prosecutor who believes it is his destiny to be appointed Chief Justice of the Supreme Court by President Truman. “[Jackson] will try to outwit me but he will not succeed,” Göring remarks to Dr Kelley. Judge Jackson meanwhile ensures that the courtroom lights are so bright that the participants require sunglasses (which are very effectively used much later in the film).
“It’s all just a big show for the cameras,” Dr Kelley says, intending to be sitting in the centre of the stage. But he is completely crushed to the point of humiliation by ambition. The ability of Mr Malek to drool over his subject while fantasising about his own infamy will remain with the audience for a long time. “You will return to the U.S. the great scholar of the Nazis,” Göring taunts. “I am the book. You are merely a footnote.”
Adam Poole
21st November 2025
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