Few paintings are as well-known as Caspar David Friedrich’s Wanderer above the Sea of Fog (1818). It imparts a sense of danger, of the ethereal, and a belief in the human capacity for bold discovery. Ineffable sensations are evoked as we stare headlong into the abyss—what emotion does it stir in you?

It’s a pre-eminent piece of art in the Romantic movement, an artistic trend and school of thought that began in late 18th-century Europe. Though Enlightenment thinkers had dismissed aesthetics in favour of rationality and reason, the Romantics extolled the virtues of beauty; not only is beautiful art impressive in its own right, but it reveals facets of the human condition that are not easily expressed through scientific means. Poets of this movement, such as the great William Wordsworth, would dedicate entire verses to the appreciation of a flower, and painters crafted immense landscapes in adulation of the natural world.

A preoccupation with nature and the emotions it engenders is a definitive quality of Romantic art. When most people hear the term “Romantic artist”, they immediately think of a brooding, mercurial poet, who struggles with sensations so intense they cannot help but spill them out onto a sheet of paper. With this in mind, it may seem strange to claim that Christopher Nolan represents an innovative form of the Romantic artist today.

“Dunkirk”

“Nolan? A romantic?” Well, I have no idea what he’s like as a person (a result of the fact that he wisely keeps his private life closely guarded), but I’d understand a certain degree of scepticism from people who have seen his films—they’re not exactly brimming with passion. One doesn’t quite get the feeling that Nolan is a modern-day Lord Byron, that he’s mad, bad, or dangerous to know.

As Romanticism is often defined as an artistic expression of deep, personal feeling, ranking Nolan alongside the upper echelons of Romantic artists might sound incongruous. After all, much of the emotion that can be found in a film stems from character, and one of the primary arguments that Nolan’s detractors frequently make is the absence of deep, meaningful characterisation in his movies. Stating that this British auteur is more intent on confusing his audience than telling real, human stories, many have simply dismissed the director and his films as being cold, aloof, and unemotional.

I’ll admit that there may be some credence to this assertion. In revisiting The Dark Knight Trilogy (2005–2012), I was struck by how scenes of character and emotion are largely eschewed by the demands of the plot. We are never left to linger long on a feeling, nor delve too deeply into what an individual may be experiencing. It feels as though we are always being hurried along, that there are more interesting, more mind-boggling, or more intellectually stimulating things to see in this story.

“The Dark Knight”

This could be because Nolan is the ultimate craftsman of puzzle boxes. Human emotion is sometimes treated as the proverbial shoeleather of his stories; gooey, gushy sentiment is overshadowed by cerebral narrative structure and ornate plot design. This has led many to dismiss this aspect of his work as being haughty or pretentious. Describing his almost mathematical approach to narrative as unnecessarily complicated (if not completely nonsensical), people often do not look for the meaning within the complexity.

However, this is precisely where his power and emotion as a filmmaker lie. Simply put, what is the complexity in his stories revealing? If you wade deep into the intricacy of his storytelling, you often find far more on repeated viewings than initially meets the eye. Nolan has demonstrated a profound understanding of story architecture in his work—that is his strength, and he would be foolish not to take advantage of it. That’s because it’s in his narrative structure where his voice as a filmmaker can be found. When looking closely, it would be mad to claim that there is neither character nor emotion in Nolan’s films; as a cinematic pioneer, he merely conveys these storytelling tenets differently.

It’s my opinion that Nolan does convey emotion, theme, and character, just not as most directors would. Most rely on dialogue to do the heavy lifting. Instead, Nolan imparts these things through form. This is why his art is revolutionary: it represents a stark reimagining of what cinema is capable of, inducing deeply moving reactions in his audience through innovative means. When I left the cinema after watching Dunkirk (2017), a man was shaking outside the theatre, trying to reign in his tears as his wife consoled him.

“Dunkirk”

Tellingly, this was perhaps Nolan’s film with the least amount of character development, featuring very little dialogue. We don’t get to know anyone’s name, let alone their backstory; the feeling is conveyed purely through form, a deft moulding of story structure that creates an audiovisual assault on our emotional landscape. Similarly, Inception (2010) is one of the most shrewdly orchestrated treatises on grief and regret that’s ever been crafted.

So while Nolan may not fit the bill as an emotionally charged artist, he embodies an essential requirement of any Romantic artist: originality. Perhaps, except for Yorgos Lanthimos, he’s the most original filmmaker working today. Couple this with his image of a secretive creator, shut off from the rest of the world (he has no email, no phone, and hand-delivers scripts to actors who he wants for particular parts), and one can see how he’s something akin to the Romantic ideal of a genius.

This, above all, is the fundamental characteristic of Romanticism: that an artist’s singular imagination can triumph over and redefine an artistic medium, thereby creating a new mould. Arguably, Nolan is one of the most important directors of the 21st-century, an uncommon thinker behind the modern blockbuster. Moreover, what can often be found in his stories are protagonists who struggle with emotional dilemmas, often set within a cerebral plot or against a supernatural backdrop.

“Interstellar”

The argument that Nolan does not impart intense emotion or develop characters in his films does not always hold water; stories like Interstellar (2014) communicate the sublime power of the natural world and the profound emotional effect it induces in us. Meanwhile, Memento (2000), Insomnia (2002), The Prestige (2006), and Oppenheimer (2023) all serve as darkly intriguing character studies, each of which follows our hero as they are challenged by emotional crises and deep personal conflict.

In this respect, Nolan both appears to be an unsuitable member of the movement, while simultaneously being its contemporary manifestation. His fascination with science lends itself more to an artist of the Age of Enlightenment, or a classicist. However, his works such as Following (1998), Memento, and Inception demonstrate a keen interest in epistemology, mirroring the exploration of subjectivity many Romantics demonstrated.

Similarly, his veneration of J. Robert Oppenheimer is similar to the Romantic tendency to deify the otherworldly achievements of cultural heroes. Much like how Friedrich’s painting is considered to praise the striving personality of Napoleon, who was considered to be something of a Romantic hero at the time, Nolan’s film lionises the scientist who defined his era… and all the eras that would follow.

Christopher Nolan’s films may not always feature the most memorable of characters, but his cinema is undeniably original. His movies open up a world of cinematic potential. This, to me, is what constitutes the Romantic artist. His stories, which are the painstakingly devised mathematical formulas on celluloid, have effectively revolutionised film form. That he conveys ideas and emotion through unconventional means (through ingenious structure and not dialogue) is not a mistake to be fixed—it’s merely part of the magic.