In an era already overflowing with existential anxieties—democratic backsliding, rising authoritarianism, and yes, even the inexplicable endurance of Love Is Blind—Kathryn Bigelow has arrived to remind us of a terror we may have been too comfortable forgetting: the very real possibility of nuclear catastrophe. Her gripping new film, A House of Dynamite, which arrives on Netflix today after a limited theatrical run, opens with a stark warning that the post-Cold War era of nuclear disarmament is finished. As the Oscar-winning director of The Hurt Locker puts it: “That era is now over.” And what follows is nothing short of masterful.
After an eight-year absence from filmmaking since 2017’s Detroit, Bigelow proves she hasn’t lost a single ounce of her extraordinary ability to craft nail-biting suspense. The film has earned overwhelmingly positive critical reception, with Rotten Tomatoes reporting 79% of critics’ reviews are positive, and the site’s consensus praising it as “masterfully-constructed” and “an urgent thriller that’s as distressing as it is riveting.”
The setup is deceptively simple but utterly terrifying in its plausibility. We begin with everyday normalcy: a major (Anthony Ramos) at a missile defense base playfully chides a colleague about snacking on duty. A four-star general (Tracy Letts) discusses last night’s baseball game as he enters a Nebraska command center. Pilots stationed in the South Pacific take an early morning swim. Captain Olivia Walker (Rebecca Ferguson), exhausted from tending to a sick child all night, arrives at the White House Situation Room to begin her shift.
Then everything changes. An unidentified ICBM appears mid-flight. Initially, no one panics—this has happened twice since Christmas, Walker notes. Perhaps it’s just military exercises or geopolitical posturing. But when an Alaskan soldier observes that the trajectory is “flattening,” the blood drains from the room. This isn’t a test. And unless intercepted, the missile will strike Chicago in nineteen minutes.
The film’s innovative structure divides the narrative into three distinct sections, each offering a unique perspective of the unfolding crisis , and this is where Bigelow’s brilliance truly shines. Working from a tightly constructed screenplay by former NBC News head Noah Oppenheim, Bigelow takes us through those 19 minutes three times, moving further up the chain of command with each iteration.What initially seems like a formal risk pays off magnificently. The three-act structure creates a puzzle where conversations and characters we see firsthand are later heard through phones and other methods, slowly piecing together the complete picture —a smart, realistic approach to showing how such a catastrophe would actually unfold.
RogerEbert.com praised the film enthusiastically, noting that “Bigelow’s ability to take a series of hypotheticals and render them into narrative actuality has never been more pinpoint accurate or merciless,” while Glenn Kenny awarded it four out of four stars, calling it a “tense, precise, extremely sobering thriller” that showcases Idris Elba’s acting range.
The film’s ensemble cast is superb. While all characters are defined by their jobs, Bigelow and Oppenheim give each hints of their human dimension—whether it’s the complacent charisma of Elba’s president, Ferguson fighting back tears before soldiering on, or Jared Harris falling into despair when he realizes the bomb will hit the city where his daughter lives. Tracy Letts delivers an especially memorable performance. His general isn’t one of those hair-trigger Strangelovean psychopaths familiar from most thrillers—he’s a rational man and baseball fan trying to do the right thing. His scenes with Gbenga Akinnagbe crackle with intelligence and authentic military rapport, making you wish for an entire film devoted to their dynamic.
The film has been described as “a ruthlessly efficient little slice of nuclear terror, one of those meticulously researched, behind-the-scenes procedurals where everyone’s wearing a lanyard and speaking in acronyms and the sense of verisimilitude is so immersive.” This authenticity is crucial. Bigelow previously directed the 2002 nuclear submarine thriller K-19: The Widowmaker, demonstrating her longstanding fascination with nuclear scenarios, but with A House of Dynamite you can feel the urgency—she sees this as more than entertainment, but as a warning to wake up the world.
The film’s ambiguous ending has sparked debate, but this is intentional and powerful. Rather than providing false closure, Bigelow refuses to spoon-feed audiences a definitive resolution, instead dramatizing the machinery and human decision-making that precedes ultimate outcomes. The film reminds us that America’s nuclear defense is based on elaborate protocols that offer an illusion of control—a sobering reality that resonates long after the credits roll.
GQ described the film as “brilliantly constructed and gripping as hell,” praising editor Kirk Baxter’s work as exceptional , while Pete Hammond at Deadline called it more frightening than any horror movie, noting it’s “so completely plausible in the powder keg of a planet on which we currently exist—so plausible that the question it raises isn’t if it could happen, but rather when.”
A House of Dynamite represents Bigelow operating at the height of her considerable powers. Few directors can match her ability to tighten screws with such efficiency and effectiveness, and her return after eight years reminds us what cinema has been missing. This is essential viewing—visceral, intelligent, and disturbingly relevant. As one critic noted, the film literally had them on the edge of their seat, and it’s recommended to see it in theaters because Bigelow is “unsurpassed at action and suspense.”
In a world where nuclear saber-rattling has become increasingly normalized, Bigelow has delivered an urgent wake-up call wrapped in a brilliantly executed thriller. It’s a triumph of political cinema that manages to be both electrifying entertainment and genuinely important filmmaking—proof that Kathryn Bigelow remains one of our most vital directors.
