It begins with a chilling premise: a nuclear missile, origin unknown, is detected on a collision course with Chicago, and the United States government has just 18 minutes to respond. That’s the harrowing scenario at the heart of Netflix’s new thriller A House of Dynamite, directed by Kathryn Bigelow and written by journalist-turned-screenwriter Noah Oppenheim. Released on October 24, 2025, the film is already sparking intense conversations about the realities—and limitations—of America’s nuclear defense systems and the terrifying burden of presidential authority in a crisis.
According to USA TODAY, Oppenheim’s inspiration for the script was a simple but daunting question: “If there was ever a missile attack on the United States, what happens? What are the procedures that get followed?” To answer it, he and Bigelow interviewed a broad array of officials from the Pentagon, CIA, and White House, building a minute-by-minute depiction of how such a disaster might unfold. Bigelow’s longstanding relationships within the military community, forged during her work on Zero Dark Thirty and The Hurt Locker, lent further authenticity to the project.
The film’s realism has drawn comparisons to genre classics like Dr. Strangelove and The Day After, but it’s the unvarnished dread that sets A House of Dynamite apart. As one long-time nuclear war analyst wrote for Slate, “None of the many books and films that I’ve consumed on the subject have filled me with such overpowering dread as Kathryn Bigelow’s new movie.” The reviewer noted that the film’s depiction of top officials—initially chatting casually on a secure conference call, only to realize the attack is real—mirrors the routine but nerve-wracking drills that occur whenever North Korea or another adversary launches a missile. During President Trump’s first term, such calls reportedly happened at least 15 times, though the president himself was rarely involved unless the threat was deemed credible.
Once the threat is confirmed in the movie, the real drama begins. The United States’ first line of defense is its Ground-Based Interceptors (GBIs), launched from Fort Greely, Alaska. These sophisticated weapons are designed to destroy incoming intercontinental ballistic missiles (ICBMs) by colliding with them outside the Earth’s atmosphere—a feat described by a young adviser in the film as “hitting a bullet with a bullet.” Yet the odds are far from comforting. Oppenheim told USA TODAY that the U.S. has fewer than 50 GBIs in its arsenal, and while their success rate in tests is around 61%, actual performance in a real-world attack would almost certainly be lower. “When you’re testing a system, you’re able to control a lot,” he explained. “So it’s likely that in a real-world scenario, the success rate would be even lower.”
The film dramatizes this uncertainty with alarming accuracy. The first GBI fails to separate from its rocket booster; the second misses the target entirely. The missile enters its terminal phase, plunging toward Chicago, and there’s nothing left to do but brace for impact. As Slate’s reviewer put it, “A 50-50 record is remarkable for hitting a bullet with a bullet, but it’s woeful if the downside of that 50-50 means Chicago gets blown to smithereens.” The United States has spent roughly $500 billion on strategic missile defense since President Reagan’s 1983 Strategic Defense Initiative, but as Oppenheim notes, “We still have not quite solved it.”
President Donald Trump’s recent executive order, issued earlier in 2025, to develop a new missile defense system dubbed the Golden Dome—envisioned as a network of space-based interceptors and laser-armed satellites—reflects the enduring hope for a technological shield. Yet Oppenheim is blunt: “It’s unrealistic to expect one catch-all safety net.” The notion of an impenetrable missile shield is, he says, “one of the most challenging physics and engineering problems that you can imagine.”
With the GBIs failing in the film, the focus shifts to the president, portrayed by Idris Elba, who must decide whether—and how—to retaliate. The infamous “nuclear football,” a briefcase containing nuclear codes, emergency procedures, and a menu of attack options, becomes the center of gravity. Oppenheim was struck by the manual’s contents: “The idea that inside that briefcase is a manual that has pages of options is stunning. It’s like a menu.” These options, as the film and experts attest, range from “Selected Attack Options” (SAOs) targeting specific military sectors, to “Limited Nuclear Options” (LNOs) for more restrained responses, to “Major Attack Options” (MAOs) that would unleash massive destruction.
One of the most unsettling truths the film exposes is the singular authority of the U.S. president to launch nuclear weapons. “He does not have to build any kind of consensus; there’s not a vote. The president has the singular ability and sole authority to use nuclear weapons,” Oppenheim told USA TODAY. This reality is echoed in Slate’s analysis, which recounts historical episodes—such as Secretary of Defense James Schlesinger’s secret instructions to the Joint Chiefs in 1974 to alert him of any “unusual orders” from President Nixon—as evidence of the enormous, and sometimes precarious, weight of this power.
In the film, the president is depicted as both frustrated and baffled by the complexity and gravity of the choices before him. He admits to having been briefed on these protocols upon taking office but confesses he never really absorbed them—a sentiment that rings true for many real-life presidents, who often avoid rehearsing such scenarios after their initial orientation. The film’s climax arrives as the president, surrounded by advisers urging everything from restraint to massive retaliation, flips through the laminated pages of options—the so-called “Denny’s menus”—and mutters, “This is insanity.” The general at his side replies, “No, Mr. President, it’s reality.”
What happens next? The movie leaves that answer unresolved, ending with its evocative title—A House of Dynamite—and a haunting sense of ambiguity. As Oppenheim and Bigelow intended, the film is less about offering solutions than igniting debate. “There are enough nuclear weapons on Earth to destroy human civilization many times over, and only nine countries possess them. The threat is as real as ever,” Oppenheim warned. The film’s message, echoed by both critics and experts, is a sobering reminder: the systems in place are fragile, the decisions agonizing, and the margin for error vanishingly slim.
For all its cinematic tension, A House of Dynamite serves as a stark wake-up call, challenging viewers—and policymakers—to confront the uncomfortable realities of nuclear deterrence in the modern era. Whether it inspires action or simply leaves audiences with a sense of dread, the film’s impact is undeniable.
