Tell me About a Complicated Film

Not a woke disaster, not a masterpiece: our guest author on why Nolan's much-hated Odyssey may be closer to the heart of Homer's hero than its critics think. By Bartzissey.

Editor’s Note: Given the controversy surrounding this film’s reception, LEO has decided — in the tradition of Guareschi’s Candido — to run two reviews: a pro and contra, if you will.

This is Part 2, written by our guest author Bartzissey. You can find Part 1, by our editor-in-chief David Boos, here.

by Bartzissey

I come not to condemn Christopher Nolan.

It was nigh on impossible to talk about Christopher Nolan’s adaptation of Homer’s epic The Odyssey long before it was even shown to the public. There was no film this year (save for that one messy B-movie about psychopathic vigilantes) that garnered so much attention and inspired such heated debate and controversy. Since its first announcement, Nolan’s new project was met with cautious excitement at first, until more details came to light. Sentiments turned to irritation and some very online anger. Every new revelation about the famed director’s creative choices launched a thousand outraged commentary videos and perturbed podcast panels. In the course of this article, we will naturally examine these choices and determine how well they ultimately work. But before that, I will attempt to do the now unthinkable (for many, at least): acknowledge the good thing Nolan has done.

Re-Telling And Re-Imagining

After the critical and commercial triumph of Oppenheimer, no one could’ve predicted that Christopher Nolan would tackle an adaptation of Homer’s Odyssey. This is no small feat. Nolan is one of the very few “prominent directors” of our day, a household name whose films like Inception, Interstellar or the Dark Knight trilogy gained real cultural momentum. As it is so often repeated these days, Homer’s epic poem, composed about 3,000 years ago, is one of the foundations of Western literature. What kept it alive throughout the ages is its being re-told again and again. Even Homer’s version is “just” a re-telling; the story itself might be older still. In that regard, Nolan became part of a long tradition. More so: because of his decision to “re-tell” the Odyssey, the tale became the centre of public discourse, something that hasn’t happened in quite some time. Suddenly classical scholars and (pop) culture aficionados alike discussed the merits and impact Homer’s epic still possesses. Talking about the Odyssey or the Iliad also means engaging with what made Western culture, and connecting to its roots. That alone, despite the outrage and criticism to follow, is a remarkable achievement. (And quite the ingenious marketing campaign.)

One has to concede: the re-awakened interest in Homer sprang from Nolan’s rather bold choices, and it’s not just his casting of Matt Damon as Odysseus (Christian Bale as well as Leonardo DiCaprio reportedly declined the role). From the first trailers onward, historians bemoaned the historical inaccuracy of the costume designs. Cinephiles criticized the heavily desaturated colour palette and generally bleak cinematography. Most of all, scholars were baffled. Of all translations of the Odyssey available to base his film on, Nolan chose Emily Wilson’s 2017 work. This translation was famously the first English rendering carried out by a woman, but also the one that catered most to the (woke) Zeitgeist. Wilson re-imagined the classic text through a “feminist lens”, scolding prior versions as being too male-centric. Her “new”, vastly differing version — one much-discussed example being her treatment of the hanged slave women, “whores” in older translations, as victims — received heavy criticism from scholars. So the decision to base his adaptation on Wilson raised alarms as to whether Nolan would serve up yet another “subversive” take on a cultural classic, doing the same to Homer as Hollywood did to Star Wars or similar sagas. To be fair, Nolan’s defenders pointed out that this information is incomplete: the director drew from several translations, and only mentioned Wilson in passing.

However, what really set the internet ablaze was the casting of black actress Lupita Nyong’o as Helen of Troy (as well as her sister, who isn’t her twin in the original poem). Nyong’o herself became a liability for the marketing when she admitted to having never even heard of the Odyssey before her casting (despite holding a Master of Fine Arts from Yale University) and scolded Homer for his alleged “under-use” of female characters. Another shock came in the form of Nolan’s casting of trans actor Elliot Page. Rumours persisted that the actor was going to portray Achilles, but these turned out to be false. Page plays the part of Sinon, a character who is not present in Homer’s works. Nolan also cast the over-exposed Zendaya as Athena, which didn’t garner much appreciation. From then on, the floodgates opened for an endless attack on Nolan, accusing him of bending the knee to DEI and Hollywood’s woke agenda, sacrificing history (because Homer’s works do have origins in ancient history) and respect for Western culture for Hollywood’s good graces in the form of awards and other accolades. The Odyssey, so some said, turned into yet another display of Hollywood’s hypocrisy and disdain for the West, and, by extension, the audience itself. His Odyssey, so many pundits will tell you, is nothing short of a betrayal. And he didn’t even cast any Greeks!

Granted, Nolan didn’t do much to salvage his reputation. He only gave his critics more ammunition by refusing an orchestral score — orchestras didn’t exist in ancient Greece — while at the same time choosing contemporary English for the dialogue, including “Dad” instead of “father” and “Let’s go”. And then there was his idea to let rapper Travis Scott be the “narrator”, since Homer himself told the story as a poem (Scott only shows up as a bard for about two minutes). Scott would furthermore rap over the end credits. To dismiss his critics’ arguments as invalid was only the cherry on top. It is justified to say that The Odyssey cost Nolan lots of goodwill.

Despite all this, on paper, Nolan would’ve been a suitable director for the Odyssey. He has proven several times how well he can “balance” films on a grand, epic scale. Dunkirk showed his adeptness at war dramas. Christopher Nolan demonstrated that blockbusters did not have to be “dumb” in order to capture a wide audience. Ideas like the “dream hacking” in Inception stay with the viewer even after leaving the theatre. I’m hesitant to call him one of the “Great Directors”, but he certainly is a few steps ahead of the competition. For the longest time, this was a broad consensus. But now, Nolan opened a new front in the current culture war, as a “traitor”. The debate has already reached the stage where the outrage mob deems seeing The Odyssey in cinemas akin to a grave sin against Western culture. In the eyes of these proud defenders of the faith, you are a bad person if you decide to watch a film. This comes just a few weeks after roughly the same people claimed you were a bad person if you decided not to like a certain Uwe Boll film. Isn’t that what woke leftists usually do? Now, I don’t make decisions based on the sentiments (and hysteria) of woke authoritarians or rage baiters, so I ventured out to watch The Odyssey and form my own opinion.

Re-Viewing And Re-Thinking

Before I get into it, a disclaimer: I am not a classical scholar, let alone an expert on Homer. Also, and that might shock some readers even more: I am okay with differences between original text and adaptation. A film, in my opinion, does not have to slavishly adhere to the book it is based on. There are several examples throughout film history that prove how well this can work — for example Stanley Kubrick’s take on The Shining; most of his works, in fact. Homer’s texts are not above such treatment. A skilled writer or director should be allowed to “play” with the text, adapt and re-imagine it in creative, new ways — as long as the “core” or “the spirit” of the original is kept intact. In the case of the Odyssey, a noteworthy example is the Coen Brothers’ story of the American Deep South, O Brother, Where Art Thou? — or, in musical form, the Odyssey as a sleazy lounge-lizard backstage party in Nick Cave’s “More News From Nowhere”. The bottom line is this: the film has to work. How did Nolan fare in this endeavour?

In short, The Odyssey is a visually impressive, well-acted, but dark and at times violent film. Do not expect an unblemished hero saga. It keeps the viewer engaged for its entire runtime and should be seen on the biggest screen possible. The film does have its faults and weaknesses, though. There are several major changes to the original story that might irritate the Homer reader. Overall, this is a good film, but no masterpiece, made by a skilled, focused director, and not a “woke disaster”. When discussing the film, I will try to avoid spoilers, because I want the reader to do the unthinkable: watch the film and think for himself.

First, there is the obvious elephant in the room, namely the casting. I’m happy to report that there is no weak performance in the film. Matt Damon does a decent job as a weary, increasingly desperate Odysseus, who can still pull off believable, very physical action and fight scenes (I still would’ve opted for a different actor). The cast, with Anne Hathaway, Tom Holland, Robert Pattinson et al., all deliver inspired, solid performances. But what about the “controversial” castings of Elliot Page as Sinon or Lupita Nyong’o as Helen of Troy? As it turns out: much ado about nothing. Both have a screen time of about five to ten minutes, and are not doing much damage. Now, of course, the overall casting of the film is very diverse. Truthfully, it is somewhat jarring to see ancient Greeks played by actors of African or Indian descent, even though this does not affect their performances.

Nolan’s casting ties into a general problem of his film. Historians are correct in pointing out several blatant historical inaccuracies. One of the most glaring is Odysseus’s boat itself, which is clearly styled after a Viking ship. This even surprised the director’s fans, since Nolan is usually known for his obsessive eye for detail. Playing the devil’s advocate: maybe this was a conscious artistic choice on his part. Even if that were the case, it still doesn’t quite work. In that regard, the dialogue poses a similar problem. Nolan drew heavy criticism for his decision to “modernize” the dialogue. In the finished film, this resulted in an uneasy mixture of a more prosaic tone and modern vernacular, including some F-bombs. This sets the film stylistically “somewhere in between”. There is a general “Homeric” feel to it, but not completely. Although a recurring argument in Nolan’s defence exists: does historical accuracy matter in a mythological story? Especially when the author of the text, according to the legend (!), was a blind man who could have just as well made everything up? Indeed, a tricky question. As mentioned, Homer’s works do have a “historical core”, in this case the Trojan War. Historians have uncovered the remains of that period in the Bronze Age, so we are capable of reconstruction. Therefore, the question still stands: should Nolan have invested more care into re-creating this ancient world? In my view — and this might be surprising — Nolan was still too concerned with historical details. He could have avoided most of the criticism by creating an even more abstract, more dream-like world for the Odyssey (and possibly using a different title than The Odyssey, which would have saved him lots of trouble). An environment that feels mythological and otherworldly, to set it apart from other “sword and sandal” epics.

Re-Visiting the Hero

Another contested topic is Nolan’s approach to the story itself. This Odysseus is neither an untarnished hero, nor is his world an inviting one. Matt Damon plays a war-torn commander, committed to bringing his soldiers home. He is far from infallible, and his hubris provokes the anger of the vengeful gods. These gods, however, are not physically present; only the monsters, like the cyclops (in a drastic, nightmarish scene), are real — it truly is a godless world. The ancient world he depicts is not the ideal; it is rather the very opposite. Order and law are decaying, human relationships are plagued by deceit. Penelope’s suitors are portrayed as dishonourable scoundrels with all too clear interests. Some claimed that this is Hollywood “subverting” yet another classic, turning it inside out and sacrificing one of the oldest stories on their woke altar. What if, I ask, Nolan is actually closer to the heart of the story? Moreover: what if he aligns with a much older tradition?

To understand the story, one has to realize that Odysseus was never meant to be a hero. Homer describes him as a cunning trickster, but also a man of hubris. His defiance of the gods is not a glorified rebellion, but indeed a sin, and his ordeal the just punishment. Tracing his path through the ages, Odysseus even shows up in Dante’s Divine Comedy — in hell. In comparison, Nolan’s portrayal is much more human, and still shows off Odysseus’s fighting prowess. The warrior even returns to save the day in an impressive, but bloody, fight scene. Nolan adds an interesting aspect: Odysseus feels guilt and has to face up to his own responsibilities and failures. This is shown by the aftermath of the attack on Troy via the famous “Trojan horse”. The attack on the unsuspecting city is shown in brutal and drastic images, as a devastating, cataclysmic event. So horrendous that even Odysseus himself begins to pray to Athena. Later on, the film makes it clear that this was the end of a once proud civilization, and that the dark times, as the story tells them, began. Thinking in a broader context, The Odyssey as a film is the successor to Nolan’s biopic of J. Robert Oppenheimer, father of the atomic bomb. There is an interesting connection to consider: both men opened “the gates of hell”, by either leading an attack or inventing a weapon, and had to live out their lives with immeasurable guilt. Odysseus might have a happier, more hopeful ending than Oppenheimer — but you’ll have to see that for yourself. Granted, this iteration of Odysseus is not the trickster with a healthy ego the audience is accustomed to. It surely is a very different, non-traditional interpretation.

Could this be subversion? Or is the director rather following the tradition of the fallible hero? Because even The Odyssey, with its rather unconventional portrayal of Odysseus, has its ancestors in depicting characters from mythology in a different light. Films like Richard Lester’s Robin and Marian come to my mind, with Sean Connery as an ageing Robin Hood. Or, in some weird way, Monty Python and the Holy Grail — even the decidedly unheroic Lancelot du Lac by French auteur Robert Bresson. On that note, delving into another treasure of Western lore, the saga of King Arthur, might help us understand The Odyssey. John Boorman’s film Excalibur is of special interest, since it is said to be Christopher Nolan’s favourite film. The man has taste: Boorman’s 1981 epic is a grandiose, opera-like version of King Arthur, underscored with the music of Richard Wagner and full of majestic imagery. Yes, the Knights of the Round Table are presented as great warriors, going on daring adventures; it is a mystic world of might and magic. The difference from other adaptations of the saga is a generally darker tone. Its heroes are fallible, prone to vices and temptation — steadfast in their quest for the Holy Grail, but the toll it takes on them is visible. Audiences can feel the hardship their holy mission entails, very similar to The Odyssey. And even brave King Arthur has moments of weakness and doubt.

Going back further, about a thousand years, Camelot already had its flawed heroes to offer. One of the oldest complete works of German literature is Wolfram von Eschenbach’s verse epic Parzival, the life story of one of the Knights and later the keeper of the Grail. Parzival begins his quest not as a nobleman of pure heart, but as an ignorant brute with a very low set of social skills. Only through many trials and tribulations does he learn how to be a knight and become worthy of the Holy Grail. Just like Parzival, Nolan’s Odysseus, even as a seasoned soldier, has to earn his salvation. These examples are meant to illustrate one thing: Nolan is not just “subverting”, i.e. destroying, a cultural icon — he re-creates the hero as something more human, to let his feats appear even greater. Although it could be said that this “humbling” of a hero has become a tiresome trope by this point (see the Daniel Craig era of James Bond, wherein the suave spy became a grumpy quitter). In this case, however, I do not see a mean-spirited destruction, but a different focus.

Rewarding?

When tracing the film’s lineage — especially when pondering how a director can shed a different light on a well-known story — one special example came to mind. Much has been said about one of the earliest masterpieces of cinema, Fritz Lang’s Die Nibelungen, made in 1924 in Weimar Germany. This take on the quintessential German saga, to keep it brief, invented the fantasy genre as we know it today. Pushing his employees to the limits of artistic and human capability, Lang created a medieval netherworld full of magic, beasts and an indescribable dreamlike atmosphere. While the first part tells the story of the (nearly) invincible hero Siegfried, the second part, Kriemhilds Rache (Kriemhild’s Revenge), captures the fall of the kingdom in a massacre of betrayal, fire, madness and blood. I wonder whether, by today’s standards, this would be deemed “subversive”. What both works have in common is a director daring to take a classic, well-known story and tell it in his very own way. Still, next to Nolan’s The Odyssey, Lang’s Nibelungen is much darker and downright nihilistic. (Cinephiles, relax: I do not mean to imply that The Odyssey is on the same level as Lang’s masterpiece.) This is not what the recent Homer adaptation is about. Instead, the message is much more positive. Without spoiling the ending: a new world arises from the ashes of the old one. We are left with a reminder of the sanctity of family and honour, of war as the enemy of all civilization, and of how a culture can live on through the power and longevity of its stories. Doesn’t sound that subversive to me. Indeed, this is possibly the most agreeable message one could state.

No, The Odyssey is no colourful adventure film of the Ray Harryhausen school. It is also no “woke disaster”. People who want to experience the original story are advised to simply seek out a translation of Homer’s works. The Odyssey is its very own thing: an interesting, at times daring and sometimes questionable interpretation of a tale often told. But that is just the thing — the Odyssey has always been with us, and it will stay with us for a long time yet.

The Homeric Patient