Cinefile

Boom! Everything and everyone is gone in an instant. That’s the unnerving realization that settles in your mind when you consider the phrase “nuclear explosion.” Lucy Walker’s Countdown To Zero is a polished, impressively edited petition that asks its viewers to sit up, take notice, get worried and then text ZERO to 77177. It’s less of a flooring documentary and more of a studied recap of how dangerously close we are to having a huge mess on our hands. But the fact that the doc is clear in its voice, assured in its direction and sympathetic toward the fallacies of our short history on this planet, makes it a useful viewing experience. It may not shake you like Collapse, Chris Smith’s masterful documentary on peak oil, did but it does provide some eerie insight into how sloppy the powers that be have become in regards to weapons management and nuclear security. Using an array of renowned world figures for talking heads—Robert McNamara, Tony Blair, Jimmy Carter, Mikhail Gorbachev—along with experts in the field of weapons material and control, Walker’s documentary matures into a rather articulate presentation on the subject of nuclear catastrophe. It is an expository piece on sensibility and survival—as opposed to a fervent rant on the apocalypse. Collapse managed to balance the frenzy with the feasible; Countdown To Zero expands on the feasible and paints a rather hopeful horizon.

For starters, the idea of a global nuclear catastrophe is such a gargantuan concept to digest that most people carry on with their day-to-day lives untouched by the notion. Would you really step outside your house if you considered that a bomb could go off on any street corner? As a society, we function by focusing on more prevalent concerns: What mode of transportation will I use to get around? Where will I work? What will I eat? And so on. The key to the success of Countdown To Zero is in its patience to allow the audience to register the severity of its proposed worst nightmare. The first section of the doc talks of uranium, it shows footage of nasty explosions and provides a brief recap of the nuclear arms race. During these passages, the audience soaks in this information with the same attention they give to the evening news: they know what they’re watching is real but the sense of immediate danger from any of the information is so unlikely, it becomes sterile content.

It isn’t until Walker makes the smart directorial choice of letting the viewer’s own imagination do the reasoning, that the film picks up some surprising heft. For example, when discussing the scope of a dreaded nuclear holocaust, Walker photographs gorgeous city skylines—Chicago, New York City, Rome, etc.—and she lets the camera hold on these wonderful pieces of architecture.  There they are, these man made structures of beauty. Between these buildings are millions of people, living and functioning. Then it becomes clear why these shots are so powerful. Walker wants us to consider how these vistas would look without their skylines, without their people. It’s unnerving and quietly moving.

This documentary isn’t really interested with other sides to the argument either. Its main concern is getting this point across: nuclear weapons are no good for this planet. The fact that it doesn’t obfuscate its content for the sake of style or doesn’t dumb down its terminology for the sake of reach, is something to be appreciated. It’s a smartly crafted call to intellectual arms. That it manages to visually and emotionally stimulate is a bonus. Consider a sequence late in the doc where the camera sifts through Times Square, and we see nothing but people, nothing but life. On the soundtrack, “The Reckoner” by Radiohead plays. On the screen, we see a lot of faces. Some people are embracing, others smiling. Everyone is alive. It’s a beautiful sight.