Christopher Nolan’s latest film, The Odyssey, is an action/adventure interpretation of Homer’s ancient Greek epic poem, which, in itself, didn’t make sense to me at first: Hollywood allowed this guy to spend $250 million to adapt a poem?
When I first saw the trailer for The Odyssey, my initial thought was: NOPE. I’ve long been tired of watching choreographed fights that all look the same, of loud explosions that hurt my ears, of endless studies and discussions of the cis-male plight. And, since seeing his last film, Oppenheimer, I really just wasn’t enthused by Nolan’s work anymore—I thought it lacked heart, agony, depth, and any real grappling with the horror of developing the atomic bomb.
But then I heard a review on Pop Culture Happy Hour of how fantastic The Odyssey was. And another. And another. Once I put aside my annoyance at predictable displays of masculinity and Nolan’s concerning lack of development in his female characters, I found myself stuck on the why. As in: why do we still care about this story? And why are so many people talking about it?
Curiosity won out. Last week, I went into the movie with extremely low expectations, and I left not only liking it, but thinking about it for days afterward and even checking out a translation of The Odyssey; to be more specific, the translation by Emily Wilson, who used contemporary language and tells the story through a feminist lens. (Note: there’s a 17-week hold for it!)
Say what you want about the script’s subpar writing (Wilson certainly had a ton to say about that and more in her sharp, scathing review published yesterday in the London Review of Books), and the flat female characters (tbh, SOS for Nolan); the themes, fears, and preoccupations stuffed into this Trojan horse of a movie are what got me to care.
The original Odyssey is all about a veteran’s difficult journey home and eventual not-so-joyous homecoming, his ability to resist temptation (kind of), and his cunning and clever ways of getting out of sticky jams, whereas Nolan’s version is more concerned with the dangers of war, violence, xenophobia, and a lack of empathy. There are many mentions of ‘Zeus’ law,’ which is an interpretation of xenia—an ancient Greek concept of hospitality and ‘guest-friendship’—a showing of respect from both the host and guest, a mutual reciprocity. Those who uphold it are rewarded; those who don’t are punished.
This idea that there’s a set of moral codes, an encouragement to accept others and an acknowledgement that we may one day be guests ourselves—strangers in a strange land—occurs again and again. And as we watch the code be broken again and again (the giving of a gift which turns out to be a way for Odysseus and his men to infiltrate and sack Troy, Odysseus blinding Polyphemus, the suitors disrespecting Penelope and her ‘servants,’ i.e. enslaved people), we also see the repercussions: the wrath of Poseidon, men becoming literal pigs, Troy destroyed, innocent people murdered.
It’s hard to watch those scenes, flashy as they are, and not think about what we mortals have been doing, what we are doing, that beyond our glittery, loud, brash alternative truth exterior hides a steaming, putrid pile of mistakes, shame, lies, and regret. Memories of the others we have called names at best, banished from their own homes, locked in cages, and killed, at worst.
Our current civilization, Nolan seems to be not so subtly hinting at, is a gilded one, and sooner or later, we will become like Troy—sacked and overwhelmed, burnt to the ground; by others, or perhaps all by ourselves. Instead of moving forward with blinders on, what we need to do is stop and think about where we’ve been, yes, but also where we're going. Do we want to be the people who build our lives on others’ destruction, or do we want to finally start living together with respect?
Do I think The Odyssey is the best movie of the year? No. Do I think the writing was good? No. Did I wish for more screen time for Penelope, Circe, Helen, and Athena, as well as more from Sinon, played wonderfully by Elliot Page? Yes, yes, yes. But as I mentioned at the top: flawed.
At the end of the day, any movie that makes me go down a rabbit hole of podcasts, look up Greek words, and check out a book that I haven’t thought about since seventh grade (which, by the way, I hated as a thirteen-year-old), is good. Any movie that can nudge us as a collective in a different direction, or inspire people to read and learn a new language, or consider the other, the stranger, the person unlike you, is good.
Because nobody belongs everywhere. Because eventually, every society falls.