The film Nuremberg (2025) opens in the bleak aftermath of World War II as the ruins of Europe become the backdrop for one of the most significant legal undertakings in history. The story follows American psychiatrist Douglas M. Kelley, assigned to evaluate the mental fitness of high-ranking Nazi officials awaiting trial. Among them, Hermann Göring stands out as the most charismatic and dangerous, a man whose charm clashes disturbingly with the atrocities he orchestrated. The film immediately immerses viewers in a tense psychological atmosphere, where truth and manipulation intertwine.

Kelley enters his mission with a mixture of curiosity and moral obligation, determined to understand what drove these men to carry out such crimes. His interactions with Göring become a central axis of the narrative, blending intellectual duels with chilling confessions. Göring’s confidence and strategic wit unsettle Kelley, challenging his assumptions about evil. Their exchanges highlight the unsettling possibility that monstrous acts can emerge from ordinary human minds, not from insanity but from ideology and ambition.

As Kelley delves deeper into the prisoners’ psyches, he faces growing pressure from military officials who desire swift judgments rather than nuanced evaluations. Despite this, Kelley persists in his methodical approach, committed to ensuring that justice proceeds according to principle, not vengeance. This tension underscores the broader question the film raises: should history’s greatest criminals be treated as patients, subjects of study, or simply perpetrators deserving punishment?

The film’s depiction of the courtroom preparations and political negotiations paints a complex portrait of the emerging international justice system. Lawyers, officers, and diplomats struggle to balance moral clarity with legal precision, aware that the world is watching. Through Kelley’s eyes, viewers witness how fragile and essential this effort is—an attempt to replace the brutality of war with the order of law.

Outside the interrogation rooms, Kelley grapples with personal strain as the emotional weight of his work begins affecting his sense of identity. His reflections create a humanizing counterpoint to the harshness of the historical setting, revealing how proximity to evil can erode even the strongest convictions. His internal conflict adds depth to the psychological drama.

As the trials approach, the stakes heighten. Göring’s influence over the prison block grows, and Kelley fears that the charismatic defendant may shape not only his own narrative but also the legacy of the entire trial. The film builds toward a sobering realization that justice is never simple and that truth often resides in uncomfortable places.

In the end, Nuremberg becomes a profound exploration of morality, power, and responsibility. Through its intimate focus on two men locked in a battle of intellect and conscience, the film reflects on humanity’s darkest truths and the enduring need to confront them with honesty and courage.