The Odyssey Review – The King Without a Throne

One of the more unexpected takeaways from this summer movie season, is how two decorated but disparate filmmakers would make such functionally similar works, but to wildly different results. In June, Steven Spielberg graced the world with Disclosure Day, a retelling of a familiar story, but seen through the lens of modern day sensibilities – and this film was greeted with one of the most polarizing receptions of the director’s career. Meanwhile, we have Christopher Nolan, fresh off Oscar glory with Oppenheimer, using his blank check to give us The Odyssey – a retelling of a familiar story, but whose themes and lessons are put through the lens of modern day sensibilities. The Odyssey, Nolan’s version, isn’t merely the poem that Homer once transcribed. It’s an amalgamation of the idea of The Odyssey, mixing and matching elements of its many translations, as well as stories and characters that were fleshed out in the adjoining tales that compliment The Odyssey – works that both predate and succeed the printing of the titular story.

In doing so, Nolan creates a work that is acutely aware of, and in dialogue with, the nature in which this fable has evolved over time, and attempts to embue the work with a morality that transcends the social context of its original printing. Making The Odyssey a parable that can engage with the social climate of the modern era. In fact, it does so more successfully than Disclosure Day, partially because the source material is already ripe with a roster of intriguing characters, setpieces, and twists of fortune, making it easier for Nolan to riff on these events. Thus making the film feel amicable to our current understanding of these archetypes and myths. In other words, it’s a movie that has a better understanding of the contemporary audience it hopes to speak to, in addition to its understanding of the original work. And while the movie isn’t without its warts, the film ultimately lands the plane, and is successful as pop fantasy storytelling. It’s a grand and visceral epic that borrows elements from The Lord of the Rings, Game of Thrones, and Conan the Barbarian, without deviating from Nolan’s signature stamp, for better or worse. 

Nolan executes the story in non-linear fashion – because of course he does! But this is also a match with the source material, which also begins in medias res and recites events out of order. From the filmmaker’s perspective, this allows him to drop us in and out of different locations and time periods, allowing him to decide when he wants to begin developing certain plot threads. The film doesn’t begin with King Odysseus (Matt Damon) starting his trek home. Rather, it starts with Penelope (Anne Hathaway) and Telemachus (Tom Holland), wife and son of Odysseus, trying to uphold their power in a deteriorating Ithaca, in the absence of their King. Their home is overrun by suitors hoping to take Penelope’s hand in marriage, and thus Odysseus’ throne, while Telemachus secretly trains for potential battle with the unruly gentlemen. Odysseus, on the other hand, is suspected to possibly be dead; gone for nearly 20 years as a soldier in the Trojan War, but no one has heard from him and he’s failed to return home, while many of his peers have already made their pilgrimage back to their respective lands.

Damon brings a lot of gravitas to the role of Odysseus, although I’d hardly say it’s unimaginable to see someone else in the part. There are far showier performances throughout, while Damon’s task is workmanlike, assuming the traditional everyman role where it’s easy for the audience to self-insert. Tom Holland is.. decent, it’s fine, it’s not necessarily an outstanding performance. His Telemachus vacillates between surface-level and nuanced; there are many scenes where there isn’t much intrigue behind his eyes or facial expressions. However, he does have a moment near the climax where he gets to show off some understated storytelling. It’s a hard role to pull off, since the character is intentionally written to be meek for much of the runtime, but we seemingly never turn a corner into a more fiery performance. However, the same can’t be said for Hathaway, who pretty much comes out swinging from the jump. There’s even a bit of kinship Penelope’s portrayal shares with Hathaway’s turn in Interstellar (2014), as the former has a reflection on ‘love’ that appears to be a direct callback to the latter. Some of the dialogue Hathaway has to pull off is somewhat clunky and bombastic, but the actor brings an intense passion and anger to the role. She is, at times, the heart of the narrative as she does the most to convince us that Penelope and Odysseus’ love must find a way to endure, and she accomplishes this while convincingly weighing her options as a potential bride, one whose authority and expertise goes unappreciated due to gendered prejudice.

Many of the supporting performances are quite strong; in fact, this may be one of the more eclectic casts Nolan has ever assembled. John Leguizamo doesn’t have a showy part, but is just incredibly solid and believable throughout his role as Eumaeus, a subtle performance that feels authentic. Jon Bernthal and Robert Pattinson are taking tremendous joy in chewing the scenery, while Himesh Patel is a fine and believable foil for Damon, firing back at Odysseus’ questionable decision-making.

Samantha Morton as Circe will likely be remembered as one of the more superb supporting performances of the year. She’s sinister but also empathetic. Her actions are dramatic and cruel, but there’s a logic behind her anger. Her big scene is one of the film’s most memorable, and is the one time the film ventures into the realm of body horror. The scene is photographed beautifully, horrifically, viscerally. It appears to have been done primarily with practical effects, although I wouldn’t be surprised if there was some barely noticeable CGI spliced in. No matter the method the production chose, it is captured photorealistically. A similar scene involves an encounter with the fabled Cyclops, and it is as haunting as it is visually arresting. It’s not so much that the Cyclops scene is revolutionary in story – it is, after all, depicting a seminal mythological trope. But Nolan’s camera, and Ludwig Göransson’s score, captures the moment with such intensity and unnerving horror – it’s as if something biblical has come to life onscreen. This, along with the Circe portion, are two surreal setpieces where what your brain sees seems so unbelievable, but that’s what makes those moments impossible to look away from.

The film is a direct thematic continuation of Oppenheimer, in which a decorated individual much reckon with their blindspots to justice, and the horrors they’ve helped bring into the world. Just like Oppenheimer the man, there is perhaps no way for Odysseus to make up for the hurt and carnage he’s caused others. For Odysseus, the only attainable redemption appears to be self-improvement, and a quest to save his loved ones. We are deep into ‘hero’s journey’ territory, appropriately so since the source material is one of the foundational pieces of this myth. The bloodbath this leads to not only reaffirms the hero’s unique skillset, but also resembles a John Wick like rampage of revenge. One could easily joke that the climax ventures into the “bad guys attack hero one at a time” cliche. And, it does engage in that cliche, but I’m willing to allow it due to how chaotic and surprising the ambush is, leading to some understandably stupid behavior amidst all the confusion.

In regards to the pantheon of Nolan flicks, the Odyssey lands near the top 5, if not breaching the bottom of said 5; time will tell. It’s storytelling and visual spectacle transpires across a vast canvas, impressing upon the audience an intense feeling of scope and time passage. The film’s biggest flaws can be found in attempting to adapt such an expansive text, and Nolan enacts a great deal of artistic license that changes many key details of the poem. Odysseus, for example, is a more flawed and mischievous character in the poem. He’s more arrogant and less apologetic for his transgressions. It would be interesting to know Nolan’s internal reasoning for making changes to the character, perhaps in part because he didn’t know how to display these flawed character traits without appearing to engage in endorsement.

Thus, Damon’s Odysseus is more virtuous and redeemable, but less compelling. In Homer’s story, Odysseus’ hubris and callousness is on display when confronted by the Cyclops. Nolan’s version chooses to emphasize vengeance instead, changing the themes of the setpiece. For decisions like these, Homer and Nolan’s stories largely arrive at similar conclusions – that follies such as arrogance, neglect, mistreatment of your fellow person, deception, and a lack of adherence to the teachings of the Gods leads to personal and societal decay. Nolan just occasionally diverges on the paths he chooses to get to those conclusions. Is there a world where a more faithful adaptation of The Odyssey can exist, and lead to a 10/10 movie? That possibility certainly exists. But given this is the grandest adaptation we have of the work, I won’t let the idea of perfection ruin what is still a hefty example of superb filmmaking. It is not a perfect movie, but The Odyssey is transfixing, moving, and often thrilling. A film that doesn’t need to reach the highest possible heights in order to still soar.