Original subtitles

— Through another party? — Yes,

— Could we know who? — / Think that would be a mistake,

I’ll tell you for what reason,

Not to take this person to task in any way...

(Narrator) Berkeley, California.

Save Spain!

Across the nation, in the autumn of 1928,

students demonstrated against the world—wide rise of fascism and militarism.

For many, only the Communist Party seemed to provide an uncompromising opposition

to the threat of Hitler and his allies,

At Berkeley, there was ferment in the classroom too.

By the end of the 30s, two young professors of physics had built up a department

with a reputation matching the great European centers.

One was the experimental physicist Ernest Lawrence.

His colleague was a 54—year—old theoretician from New York.

His name was J. Robert Oppenheimer.

..One over mass Squared,

for a neutron gas you're going to get something like ten to the six centimeters,

and for mass, you're gonna get something like two times...

At Berkeley, while Ernest Lawrence was in charge of hugely expensive machines

which were on the brink of penetrating the nucleus of the atom,

Oppenheimer gathered round him an extraordinarily talented group of students,

Ross Manitoba.

Bob Wilson.

His graduate assistant, Robert Gerber.

Joe Weinberg.

And others,

Several would remain closely involved in Oppenheimer’s life and career for many years.

OK? Bright ideas?

Who's done the reading?

What's the next step?

Wilson.

— Hey, Bob, show us how. — Whiz kid!

OK. You put U0 equal to 0,

you get, if I recall...

Uh—uh.

(Class) Ooh!

(Oppenheimer) What's he done? Weinberg?

He's forgotten the R downstairs in the second equation.

Of course he has.

Stupid mistake.

Back to the minors.

OK, good.

This is an exact solution.

But it only applies to very special conditions.

How are we going to get a more general solution?

Come on.

A glimmer of light?

Somebody?

Do you have a suggestion?

No, er... I don't understand.

You've got company.

No, earlier.

— What don't you understand? — Well, why do we take UO to equal 0?

— (Student) Uh—oh. — Oh, for God's sake.

It's because of the way the equation goes near the origin.

The density goes like the pressure to the power of less than unity.

We covered that a couple of weeks ago.

(Oppenheimer) OK, come on. What's next?

Come on.

Christie?

Weinberg?

Lomanitz?

All right, Oppie. What is the answer?

— I don't know. — (All) Oh!

What a stinker!

OK.

Nobody knows.

Now it's exciting.

What is it?

What's the clue?

Maybe if we solve those equations numerically?

(Student) Could be.

This looks interesting.

(Bell)

Oh, well. I guess I can always hunt up my old med school application.

Oh, come on. You always have to take Oppenheimer's course two years.

Second time round you understand it.

Yeah?

Well, this is my second time.

I can't see it.

Oh, class is over?

(All laugh)

— Who wants to eat? — Er...

— My treat. — Sure!

— What do you think about Jack? — Yeah, terrific.

What do you think, Rossi?

Lomanitz.

— You're not concentrating. — Oh.

— I want to ask a favor. — The union?

Spanish War Committee.

I gave you my September check. You'll get another one in October.

Not money, your house. We're having a fundraiser.

Oh, God.

We had a room booked on campus but the university canceled it.

— Why? — Cos they're fascist pricks.

The dean heard that some Communists will be there.

— Will they? — Sure.

— You mean like this guy. — I said, "How about free speech?"

The dean said the usual.

Why me? Other people have houses.

Yours is the biggest.

OK. When is it?

— Tonight. — Tonight?

Rossi, you better clean up afterwards. I don't want to have to empty an ashtray.

Sure. Absolutely, Oppie-

# 7'here’s a valley in Spain... #

You can't seriously believe that...

Oppie, tell him, the New Deal was nothing but a diversion, start to finish.

— I don't believe that. — You don't?

I don't believe that Roosevelt or the New Deal was just a diversion.

It wasn't revolutionan/ obviously but Roosevelt got the countn/ started on the road.

— To what? — To socialism.

Right. I'll agree with that.

Once you get people thinking about the life of the working class, you can't stop there.

Once you get American labor organized, you can't stop there.

The New Deal did that so it's been worth supporting.

— When do we stop? — When it stops opening doors.

— That could be soon. — It could be but why rush it?

Let it do history's work. And when it's finished, to the junk heap.

Yeah, OK. All right.

(Man) Nice house. Whose is it?

— Haakon! — Want a drink?

— I can't drink that rotgut. — This? It's not rotgut.

What have you got?

— And how are you? — OK.

— I almost got tenure last month. — Almost?

I gather the feeling in our French department is I'm a little young for the honor.

36. Of course it's only a smokescreen.

No Reds need apply.

— How's the novel? — Pending, pending.

Will you finish it? I want to read it.

Yes, boss.

Can you do me a favor?

We're stuck for some place to hold the next Party meeting.

Why don't I just move out? Turn this place over to you people?

Since when did it become "you people"?

— Are you dropping out, Robert? — No, no.

All right. I'm sorry but what's the problem?

You used to be hotter than any of us, Robert.

You were my Lenin.

Sure you were. I'd listen to you and I'd think, "This fella has all the answers."

— What is it, Robert? — I'm just getting a little tired of all this.

— All what? — Parties, meetings, rallies.

— It's important. — You think so?

What would you rather be doing?

I was just talking to one of my kids. He's going to Spain.

Come on. You see yourself with a rifle?

I guess not.

Are you still as committed as ever?

More than ever.

Look around you, Robert. There's still seven million unemployed.

Who's going to fight for them? Only the Party.

Hitler's about to work into half of Europe.

Who's going to stop him? Only the Soviets.

I don't have to tell you that, Robert. What is it?

— I just wish... — What?

I don't know. Something real.

(Laughs) Well, talk of the devil.

— You were talking about me? — No, reality.

And here you are, real as they come.

I'll see you people.

— He was kidding. — He's a jerk.

— How are you feeling? — Horrible. I have a headache.

— I have to go. — Can't you stay for just a minute?

I'm in pain.

— I'll drive you home. — You only just got here.

Come on.

— See you! — Bye!

Quite a starn/ party.

Some of the People's World crowd were there,

a lot of theater people.

— Remember that guy that wrote... — Could you please not talk?

Your voice is going through and through my skull.

Drink?

Thank you.

— Still bad? — Horrible.

How long have you had it?

Today, yesterday...

— Have you seen a doctor? — Yes.

"There's nothing physically wrong with you, Miss Tatlock. You're fit as a busy bee."

— A busy bee? — A busy bee.

What we need is a change.

Hang on until Thanksgiving.

— We'll go up to the mountains... — I can't come to New Mexico.

— Why? — I made other arrangements.

Two weeks in New York.

# I'll pick Manhattan, the Bronx and Staten Island too

# It's lovely going through the zoo #

— Are you going alone? — Course not.

# And tell me what street is quite like Mott Street in july #

This is my fault.

Robert!

Look, erm... go and be jewish somewhere else, huh?

# Come along and listen to the lullaby of Broadway #

Want to hear who it is? Which sex?

I'll make it easy for you. It begins with a P. Come on. Huh?

Robert?

Robert, come back here.

Bastard!

Robert, come back!

— I will kill myself if you go! — Don't say that!

I will!

Oh, jean.

Yes.

What?

This is crazy.

No, it's not.

No, it's not.

Oh, my Robert.

My Robert.

Sorry

I wasn't asleep.

— Feel better? — Calmer.

Oh, come on. You've had worse.

Forgive me?

I've been working so damned hard lately.

— The Party? — Mm.

We're getting out a leaflet on the city elections.

"We". That's a laugh.

First I have to write it, then I have to type it,

and naturally it's me that has to run it off.

5,000 copies, and the damn machine breaks down even/ 20 sheets.

I need a break so badly.

New Mexico is still on offer.

I really have to go to New York.

It's quite innocent. It's a conference on Party strategy.

I won't even get to Manhattan. It's ten days in the Bronx.

Well, take it easy till then.

Oh, Robert. How can I?

We've got a big meeting on Tuesday. I want you to be there.

There's, erm... a swimming pool in Oakland

that's keeping out Negroes.

A lot of faculty kids use it. I want you to help taking petitions around.

OK.

What are you doing?

— Work. — Oh, come on.

Robert, somebody's got to do it.

(Typewriter clicking)

I got your note.

I don't know what else to tell you.

Your request to take my course for another semester was carefully considered and...

— In your own best interests... — No!

— It's not fair. — It's not a matter of fairness.

To attempt to do theoretical physics without a very strong aptitude...

I have a strong aptitude.

My record at Yale, it...

Look...

theory is just one ballgame.

On the other hand, there's always experiment.

You're at a university with an extraordinary tradition of experimental physics.

— Professor Lawrence... — I've always wanted to do theory.

Ever since you were in kindergarten?

You're wasting your time. You're certainly wasting mine.

I'll transfer to another university.

Sorry. Sorry, excuse me.

Hey, joe, can I get a beer? Joe!

Rossi. Two Scotches.

My sister—in—law. Three Scotches.

Do you know jacky?

— Hi, jacky. Do you know Bob Serber? — Sure.

— Your brother's looking for you. — We've been talking to dentists.

Robert!

— Frank! — Been looking all over.

— Have you read Nature? — It's in the office.

— Read this. It's about the new work in Europe. — What's the excitement?

Hahn and Strassman have bombarded uranium with neutrons. They get barium.

That's exciting?

There's a barrier around the nucleus of an atom.

We've been trying to force our way through.

Now these two fellas have shown that neutrons can just slip past it.

— What's a neutron? — It's an uncharged particle. It's complicated.

It's not complicated. See, the barrier around the nucleus is positively charged

and these neutrons can just sail through because they're uncharged.

Frisch and Meitner have done some calculations.

Every time a uranium atom absorbs a neutron, it divides. They call it a fission.

They estimate that the amount of energy released in a fission...

— Is enormous. — Enough to create more neutrons

and so more fissions and more.

A chain reaction.

It's incredible, isn't it?

We're in Berkeley, big money, big machines,

and there are these two guys in a dinky little lab in Berlin...

It's classic, isn't it?

— It's possible, isn't it? — What is?

The amount of energy released in a fission...

If you have enough fissionable material, and the chain reaction isn't controlled...

— You've got a bomb. — A big bomb.

— You think anybody else will work this out? — Any competent graduate student.

— Thanks. — But you see it.

Well, I don't. So you've got another bomb. What's the difference?

This would be a bomb of incredible power.

The amount of energy contained in an atom...

It wouldn't just destroy buildings.

Cities.

Berlin.

How far do you think they've gotten?

— If there's a war... — I don't think there'll be a war.

— This year. — I hope you're right.

Hey, Frank, I didn't see you there.

Look at this.

Five dollars?

You're on.

A bomb.

The only way to stop war is by collective security. It's the only answer.

England and France won't try it. Why? Because they want to turn Hitler east.

It's obvious.

But you just wait. Stalin's not that dumb.

Even if there is a war. So a bunch of fascist states knock each other off. Is that bad?

— As long as Russia stays out of it. — Right.

I was talking to some people who just came back from Russia.

Here we go. And they hated it, right?

What do you expect? It's not for tourists.

Frank...

These people had been there for years.

— The way they described it... — Who were these people?

Pleczek, Schein, Vicki Weisskopf.

— So who are they? — Good scientists.

What did they say?

Everyone's terrified.

Nothing works.

They say it's like living in a tomb.

I don't care. I don't care who says this. I don't want to hear it.

Neither do I.

Robert, we think you should know.

Jacky and I have joined the Party.

Gonna take a stand. Tired of fooling around.

— But Frank... — Don't say it. I know.

Feckless Frank doesn't know what he's doing. That's what you're thinking, isn't it?

— I'm thinking of the danger. — Danger?

We're not dangerous.

The danger to yourself, to your career.

My career! Christ, there are more important things than that.

I can't be careful all my life. I'm not like you.

Don't do this, don't do that, might not get tenure. Is that a way to live?

Anyway, you've known jean's a Communist for years. That hasn't bothered you.

— Jean does not have a career. — Oh, God.

Well, if I'm at risk, believe me, half the science faculty at Berkeley is too.

— If you knew what I know now, Robert... — I don't want to know.

The problem remains, how do we deal with this barrier around the nucleus?

Power. Pressure.

However hard that door is bolted, if we kick it hard enough, it's got to open.

With my cyclotron, I have discovered ways

of speeding up electrical charges within a magnetic field

to such an extent that by directing them against selected targets

we can significantly affect the atom's inner structure.

Furthermore I... Hi, Oppie.

So, er... what's its output?

Well, this machine, gentlemen, the 60—inch cyclotron,

can generate energies equivalent to 20 million volts.

Yes, but I'm not satisfied.

No, already we have designs for a cyclotron employing a ISA—inch magnet.

My goal, gentlemen, 100 million volts.

Yes, with your help, perhaps.

Yes, now I think you might enjoy looking over our controls here.

Ed, would you show these gentlemen around? Show them the controls for us?

I'll join you in a minute.

— Hello, Oppie. — If this is a bad time...

Oh, no. Piece of marketing.

Those fellas have got a half a million dollars to give away.

— OK, Oppie, OK. — I didn't say anything.

What did you want to see me about, Ernest?

— I want your advice, Oppie. — OK.

— You've read the new work from Europe. — On fission? Sure.

— And you realize its implications. — Obviously.

— A weapon. A frightful weapon. — The possibility of one.

OK, even that.

What are we going to do about it?

I don't know, Oppie, I talk to people around here and...

I don't know what they're talking about.

Come on, you're close to these kids. You tell me.

I think the theory is that there won't be a war.

Probably.

Probably, huh?

Well...

Anyway, I had the idea that this uranium business

was being... taken care of someplace else.

No, no. I talked to Compton in Chicago.

He's in touch with all those new people that have come over from Europe.

Fermi, Leo Szilard.

They're squawking that American scientists ought to get to work on this thing.

So far nothing's being done.

Well, yeah, a couple of small—scale projects here and there

in labs around the country

but nobody's really doing anything to get the government into the action.

Oppie, look. What's gonna happen if some other country gets ahead of us?

Germany?

Do you know that the Germans have banned exporting uranium from Czechoslovakia?

— Did you know that? — Yes, I heard that.

Yeah, well, if they're serious about fission...

Oppie, you know damn well they've got guys over there who can do it.

I don't think those people would work for the Nazis.

Which people wouldn't?

Heisenberg, Floer, von Weiz'acker.

I don't believe they'd stoop to work for Hitler.

Why not?

Because they're scientists.

We've known these guys for years.

We've worked with them, studied with them, they're our colleagues.

I can't think that they'd hand Hitler a fission weapon.

It'd be a perversion of...

everything. They wouldn't do it.

You really believe that?

— I want to. — So do I.

I just don't think this is a particularly good time to indulge in wishfulthinking.

Are you saying we should switch to military research?

— When there isn't even a war yet? — I don't know, Oppie.

That's not what I became a physicist for.

Nor me.

It's not what I built up Berkeley for.

Hey.

With you.

Yeah, but how long has this been known?

That the atom contains vast stores of energy?

That's been known theoretically for a long time.

Yeah.

That we might possibly release it efficiently...

cumulatively...

That's new.

Scary.

Hm.

I can't really grasp it.

What are you gonna do?

I've talked to Ernest about it.

We're going to think about it.

What do you think?

A military scientist?

No. It's unnatural.

It's horrible.

That's not the only thing that's bothering you, is it?

You want to tell me about it?

Come on. Tell me.

— You're not going to understand it. — Robert.

OK.

Frank's joined the Party.

Jacky too.

— I don't believe it. — It's true.

I don't believe you're sitting there like that because Frank joined the Party.

— I knew you wouldn't understand. — That's terrific!

Hooray for Frank. At least one Oppenheimer has finally grown a pair of balls.

— If it were that simple... — It is that simple.

You can't bear it, it's so simple. You just...

You adore hanging around on the edge, acting agonized.

— I do not! — That's what you do!

The stinking world's overrunning with fascism and you with your pricky resen/ations.

What do you think would happen to you if you joined the Party?

You'd only be putting the rest of you where your mouth is.

— I do enough. — You do what? What do you do?

I pay out a whole lot of my salary every month...

to the Spanish War Committee, the foreign workers, the union, the paper...

It's really tough, writing checks. It must really make you sweat writing checks.

— Making speeches at parties. — I do not make speeches!

The college professor hands down the law to his little disciples. Very cute.

When I met you, you knew nothing.

I know.

You didn't know the stock market had crashed till six months later.

— I know and I'm grateful. — I don't want you to be grateful.

I just thought that one day you'd...

It's disgusting.

I wanted to look up to you.

I'm sick.

Robert, you cheat, you know. You cheat!

— Look... — just leave me alone.

(Whispers) Go away.

Go away.

We get some influential and rich people.

A lot of the Berkeley camp.

— We can start the meeting in 20 minutes? — I'll see if everybody's ready.

— Robert! — Haakon, what are you doing here?

Picking up a few bucks teaching a course at the community college.

This was to be your summer to finish your novel.

Well, inspiration was low. No jean?

— Another fight? — Yes, a bad one.

A month down here will change your lot.

Haakon.

(Laughs) Kitty Dallet.

— No? — No longer.

Harrison. Yes, I heard about it. Congratulations.

Let me do the honors. This is the almost brand—new Kitty Harrison,

this is the distinguished Dr. Robert Oppenheimer.

— I think I've heard about you. — Oh, that's bad news.

— Not at all. — Is Mr. Harrison here?

Dr. Harrison is getting me a drink.

Are you in Los Angeles for the summer, Dr. Oppenheimer?

I'll be teaching a seminar at Cal Tech.

Oh, we are too. In Los Angeles, I mean.

Darling, there are some people I'd like you to meet. I'm awfully sorry.

Thank you.

— Lovely woman. — Who is she?

She was married to a guy called joe Dallet. Killed in Spain in '36.

Nice guy. Good Communist.

— Is she in the Party? — I don't know.

She would have been when she was with joe. I don't know if she still is.

Hello, Oppie. Good to see you.

Haakon Chevalier, you know Rossi Lomanitz?

— Yeah, we've met before. — I'll talk to you later, Robert.

— How was your trip down? — Bumpy. I came in joe Weinberg's car.

I liked your last paper very much. It ought to be published.

— There are one or two minor changes. — Sure.

In the first equation you take too long getting where you're going.

I'll tell you what I'd do.

The trouble with most American fiction

is that in trying to come to grips with the problems of society

they've rejected the elements of fantasy, poetry.

— In my novel... — Excuse me, I'm due at the hospital.

Bye—bye, darling. Mr. Chevalier.

— Is he a medical doctor? — Yes.

English. He's very brilliant.

— Tell me about your friend. — Robert?

Best friend I've got. Tremendous guy.

You should hear him talk. Politics, science, art, literature.

Of course, he's wasted in Berkeley.

Well, we all are, but Robert, all he needs is one good break,

he could be a big man in this country.

Oh, excuse me a minute, darling.

— Steve. — Yeah.

— Robert Oppenheimer's here. — Oh, good. I'd like to speak with him.

Robert.

Just a sec.

— Do you know Steve Nelson? — Hi.

— We met in Berkeley last fall. — Right.

— Did you open up the swimming pool? — They wouldn't.

But we made connections in the Negro community.

You remember the petition about the swimming pool?

— I didn't get you many signatures. — Ah, no reason why you should.

Er... could you get me another drink, Haakon? Thanks.

The Party's very wasteful sometimes.

We've got a lot of foot soldiers who can collect signatures for petitions.

But you've got other talents

and the Party can make more constructive use of them.

Maybe we can talk sometime. We're gonna need all the friends we can get.

— Steve, hello. — Ah, Kitty, honey.

— Erm... — Oh, right. I'll be right in.

Oh, nice to see you, Kitty. We'll talk later.

Professor, I'll be in touch.

Hello again.

— My escort has deserted me. — That's too bad.

— How do you know Steve Nelson? — Around Berkeley.

— How do you know him? — Paris.

I was there when I heard that my husband — my first husband — was killed.

I felt it was my fault, so I was pretty lost.

He went to Spain after we had some trouble.

Anyway, Steve was around.

He looked after me and when I came out to California he still took an interest.

He's been trying to keep me active in the Party. Think he's been disappointed lately.

— Backsliding? — Terribly.

— How about you? — Worse. I never even joined formally.

— Dilettante. — I think we can get this meeting started.

If you'd like to come inside. Everyone get a drink and make yourselves comfortable.

— We've got Mr. Gus Manning here... — Oh, my God.

— Bad? — They call him Two—Hour Manning.

Long speeches.

(Steve) ..which is currently in dispute with...

Do you think they'd notice if we tiptoed away?

(Steve) Gus is gonna talk to us...

— I know a quiet little bar. — Lead on.

(Steve) And not only about that but the implications for everybody

in the state of California.

So without any further ado we should welcome...

Two years? Three?

No, to my knowledge Haakon has been working on that novel for five years.

— Do you think he'll finish it? — Maybe.

Do you think it'll be any good?

— Poor Haakon. — He's not a novelist.

— He's a pretty good translator. — It's people trying to fly too high.

That's half the trouble with the world.

— Oh, my God. — You have to go?

Soon.

This has been nice.

It's good to talk.

Don't you get much chance to?

Oh, I know lots of people.

Can't face that heat.

Southern California.

— How do you manage? — Oh, I suffer.

And then in September I get away to the mountains.

I cool off before school starts. I have a place in New Mexico.

— It sounds heavenly. — It's nice.

— It's primitive but... — (Growls) I'm envious.

Well, I'm always glad to have visitors.

Why don't you come up there for a few days?

Oh.

There's plenty of room.

Please come.

With your husband, of course.

Well... that might be nice.

Well, we can all discuss it.

I'm sure we'll be running into each other over the summer.

I think we might be.

— I can't accept it. — Hold on, Charlotte. Look...

No, you look.

For years you've been screaming, "Stop Hitler! Hitler's the menace!

"Stand by Russia!"

And now Stalin goes in and signs a goddamn treaty with the bastard.

— We look like idiots. — Oh, come on. Stalin's...

(Doorbell)

That's him. The annual reconciliation.

— Hello. — Jean.

Kitty Harrison, jean Taplock.

Hello, jean.

What a lovely apartment.

Bob and Charlotte Serber, Kitty Harrison.

(Bob) Hello.

Er... so, erm... how was LA, Oppie?

— Pretty good. — Are you sure it's all right?

I know that unexpected guests can be murder.

No.

No. There's food.

Need a plate.

I'll get one.

So, erm... are you back in Berkeley for good now, Oppie?

No, just a quick in and out.

We're going up to the mountains. Colorado.

— New Mexico. — New Mexico. I keep forgetting.

New Mexico's great this time of year. Sunny but not hot.

— Oh, is this for me? — Why not?

Half this much. I have a tiny appetite.

Mm. It's delicious.

Oh, God, it's beautiful.

— Does it have a name? — Sangre de Cristo.

— Something of Christ. — The blood of Christ.

Sometimes at sunset the mountaintops turn bright crimson.

Frank and I used to ride all through there when we were kids.

What's behind them?

Well, over there you've got Santa Fe,

and over there nothing much at all, a few small settlements.

San Ildefonso, Espafiola, Los Alamos.

— It's empty. — It's incredible.

You OK? You're not tired?

Certainly not. I'll race you.

I had big plans when I came out to California.

Big plans.

What happened?

Well...

time went by.

You're the most brilliant teacher in Berkeley.

I checked.

Well... teacher.

I've done some things but nothing really big.

— Too late. — Oh, come on!

How old are you?

35.

Robert!

Do you know what the optimum age for a theoretical physicist is?

When he's at his peak? About 27.

You should see some of those kids I'm teaching. They're so good.

Now if this war keeps spreading,

we'll all be swallowed up.

No more chances.

You'll do something.

You'll do something big.

I know.

Clai n/oya nt?

Judge of men. I know you'll do something.

You wouldn't care to say what you think that might be?

No. No.

But it'll be big.

I thought you said you didn't think people should fly too high.

That depends on the person.

Who's been making you think so little of yourself?

They shouldn't.

Are you warm enough? Do you want a blanket or...

You could put your arm around me.

I don't, er...

What?

What's the matter?

— I... — You can tell what I'm feeling.

I sometimes have difficulty, just the first time or two.

(Laughs) Oh.

Who doesn't?

(Tire blows, car skids)

This road gets worse every year. It ought to be paved.

— I like it this way. — (Giggles) You pioneer.

Now, we are going to be extremely nice to this lady, OK?

I don't care what she's like, we're going to be sweet.

This is a really healthy thing for Robert,

even if she is married.

How long did you say she'd been married? Six weeks?

— Months. — Oh, right.

But anything's better than mooning around after jean Tatlock.

Though knowing Robert, this one's probably out of her mind, too.

But it doesn't matter. We're going to be nice, yes?

OK.

All those women in Berkeley.

They're going to be furious.

I wonder what she's like.

(Horn)

Frank!

— That goddamn road! — Hello, jacky.

This is Kitty Harrison. My brother Frank, jacky.

— (Jacky) Hi! — Hi.

— Hello. — (Oppenheimer) What's the news?

You didn't bring up a radio? Neither did we.

Civilization crumbles and we don't have a radio.

This morning Hitler was outside Warsaw and Chamberlain says victory is certain.

Whose he didn't say.

(Frank) All right, Robert.

You swore up and down there would be no war.

— I wasn't the only one. — That's true.

— Want to get this stuff inside? — Let's look over the spread first.

OK.

Frank. I had another talk with Ernest Lawrence...

— It's pretty up here, isn't it? — I love it.

Of course I wish my husband could be here too.

The old place looks good.

Yeah.

— What do you think? — Hm?

Oh. Remarkable.

Yes, she is.

Her family's from Germany. Aristocrats.

— You know what she told me? — What?

If she'd stayed in Germany she would have been a princess.

No kidding!

And we're gonna be married.

Robert.

— But she is married. — That's gonna be changed.

Does her husband know?

She doesn't know.

But it's gonna happen.

And jean?

I don't owe her anything.

Jesus, Robert!

A princess in the family!

I can't really understand those two guys burying themselves up here.

— Especially Robert. — Oh, really?

No. Well, Frank's a loner, of course,

but Robert likes to be around people.

— Do you think so? — Sure. He's a very sociable guy.

But a very discriminating one.

No, I think Robert will be much happier when he sees far fewer people.

And I think he's beginning to agree with me.

— Oppie! — Ernest.

— Good vacation? — I'd like to talk to you for a minute.

Yeah, sure. OK, fellas, that's it. I'll see you tomorrow. Same time.

I've been doing some thinking. I don't know whether you'll agree...

What took you so long? I'm way ahead of you. I talked to Compton again this week.

You are looking at a bona fide member of the Uranium Project.

— That's it, isn't it? — That's it.

— Think you can fit me in? — Hm, just about.

— Do you know what you'll be working on? — No.

I know one thing for sure. This has got to go.

Not practical for present purposes.

We're converting her for war works.

So what happened to your friends, Oppie?

The ones who said that there wasn't going to be a war.

— I don't see them much any more. — We might stay out of it.

— Hm. — And pigs might fly.

So, you're coming in.

I guess if you can let go of this I can throw in my pencil and paper.

Hm.

Well, I'm sure gonna miss my 100 million volts.

I'm gonna miss my cosmic rays.

(Both) Drink?

Let's get one.

We went to a bar and Ernest cried about his work and I cried about mine

and about the fifth Scotch, I suddenly realized, "What am I crying about?"

All these years I've been moaning that I...

Whoa!

I had nothing to sink my teeth in.

(Sighs) Parties, checks, all that junk.

And now suddenly here it was on a plate,

my chance to make a contribution, to do something.

And I couldn't see it.

So this could be your opportunity.

— My opportunity? — Sure.

Face it. In any war, a lot of people do well out of it.

Why not you?

— Kitty! — Well, it's the truth.