Hollywood has finally made a film that refuses to whisper about the worst of human evil, and Americans ought to pay attention. Nuremberg, a tense dramatization of the postwar trials, has reopened a vital national conversation about what happens when barbarism goes unchallenged and societies look the other way.
The movie assembles heavyweight talent: Russell Crowe embodies Hermann Göring, Rami Malek plays U.S. Army psychiatrist Douglas Kelley, and Michael Shannon portrays Justice Robert H. Jackson — all under the direction of James Vanderbilt in an adaptation of Jack El‑Hai’s book. These are not lightweight names slotted into a patriotic PSA; they are serious artists tackling a serious lesson from history.
Audience reaction in Israel underscores why the film matters beyond the box office. Moviegoers told reporters it felt raw and authentic, and visits to Yad Vashem and the vivid archival footage woven into the film reminded Israelis and global viewers alike that the Holocaust was not an abstract statistic but a systematic campaign to erase a people.
That reminder comes at a dangerous moment: antisemitism is rising again across the West, not as a fringe nuisance but as a daily threat to Jewish students, subway riders, and places of worship. This is not hyperbole; commentators and watchdogs have documented a steady uptick in antisemitic incidents that must be met with more than comfortable statements from politicians and CEOs.
Critics will parse cinematography and pacing, and many have — some reviewing the film as uneven while praising Crowe’s chilling performance. Those debates matter for film fans, but they cannot drown out the film’s central civic utility: making a new generation confront what moral rot looks like in practice and why “Never Again” must never be allowed to become a hollow slogan.
Honest conservatives should also acknowledge the historian’s warning: scholars have raised legitimate concerns that dramatization sometimes bends facts for narrative effect, and we must not let cinematic shorthand replace sober study of the trials and their legal legacy. While art can compel, Americans who value truth must insist schools and museums supplement drama with documented history so propaganda and simplification don’t steal the lesson.
If we learn anything from the revival of interest in Nuremberg, it is that moral clarity is a national security issue. Colleges that tolerate harassment and dehumanizing rhetoric, social platforms that amplify lies, and civic institutions that appease rather than prosecute need to be held to account by citizens who still believe in law, order, and the dignity of every human life.
Patriots should see this film not as an exercise in partisan virtue-signaling but as a civic alarm bell. Support for Israel, robust Holocaust education, tougher enforcement of hate-crime laws, and a cultural refusal to normalize Jew-hatred are conservative priorities because they defend the vulnerable and preserve the moral fabric that lets free societies flourish.
Nuremberg may be imperfect as cinema, but its arrival is providential for a public that too often assumes history’s atrocities belong to distant, sepia-toned pages. Let this film wake us up: instruct the next generation, back the Jewish community when it needs allies, and stand unflinching against the return of a hatred we promised — with our mothers, fathers, and grandparents — would never walk the earth again.
