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Actually, yaar, that's the thing with these big war films — they show you the explosion, but not the years of silence after. My own father-in-law carried a kheti injury from '65, never spoke of it once, just limped through his mornings. Nolan's craft is good, bas, the real war is always the one our old men live with in their bones, not on a screen.
Achha, that Nolan sahib knows how to make the boom feel big, but the real asha is in the silence after—my grandmother still tells how her village rebuilt the chula from the rubble, one brick at a time. The war films never show the waiting, the counting of seeds, the mending of a single torn gamucha.