In every generation, there is a filmmaker who becomes the yardstick by which all others are measured. Orson Welles, David Lean, Stanley Kubrick, Akira Kurosawa, Steven Spielberg… the list goes on. Christopher Nolan has been a singular voice in cinema since his breakout film, 2000’s Memento, scrambled people’s minds with its nonlinear storytelling and a unique “epic but low-key” aura that he would continue to hone and give to all of his future films. By “low-key,” I don’t mean small budgets or small visions; I mean that his workmanship translates into his characters and settings, making everything more personal and attainable. He is not “this generation’s Steven Spielberg”; he is cinema’s Christopher Nolan, and The Odyssey is a strong example of why he is able to stand next to the storied directors listed above.
His approach to Homer’s centuries-old tale features his trademark time slips and flashbacks, used to inform the immediate present and to color our perceptions before breaking us with the truth of the matter. Nolan stays with Homer’s framing conceit, as the majority of the story is told in flashback, but there’s an urgency that makes us forget that Odysseus (Matt Damon) is recounting how he got to be where he is. We are told a story that moves ever forward, and we feel the story pulling us with it as Odysseus shares the perils of travel and the dangers of upsetting the gods, blending hubris with its consequences, all of which is made identifiable by leaving the involvement of the gods out of the visual aspects, implying only that they have a hand in what happens to Odysseus and his crew after the Trojan War.
Nolan stays human-centric, winding Odysseus through his various travails as the only surviving commander of a haggard battalion, trying to keep his men on the straight and narrow lest they tempt the anger of the gods. Sure, we see gods in Odysseus’ own visions and life, but they’re not made to be these mythic, epic beings; they appear to him in human form, and their powers are portrayed as everyday, run-of-the-mill actions these beings must undertake. It’s also interesting that there are no male gods represented; every god you see in Nolan’s retelling is a woman, and each one of them is a reflection of what William Shakespeare called “the evil that men do.” They are not vicious or vindictive; they are merely representative of what the person encountering them wants. Circe (Samantha Morton), for example, only makes victims out of people who are already acting out of wantonness and greed; Calypso (Charlize Theron) reacts to a man’s fears and gently acquiesces to soothe him, making him forget his purpose; and Athena (Zendaya) serves as Odysseus’ conscience, appearing to him several times to question his motives and actions, but representing something else completely by film’s end.
The story hasn’t changed, informed by Emily Wilson’s 2017 translation, following Odysseus’ 20-year absence from his kingdom of Ithaca while his wife Penelope (Anne Hathaway) is badgered by suitors looking to replace their lost king. His son Telemachus (Tom Holland) is convinced that his father is still alive, contending with the likes of bullying suitors Antinous (Robert Pattinson) and Polybus (Corey Hawkins), who insist that Odysseus is dead and that Penelope needs to take a husband so that Ithaca will have a king. Where Nolan takes his liberties is pushing the human element to the forefront, allowing very little space or time for the more fantastical elements of Homer’s tale, such as the Cyclops (Bill Irwin), the giant Laestrygonians, Scylla (a cliff-based monster), or the legendary Sirens. As much as these mythological figures become landmarks for Odysseus and his army, they largely serve as the catalysts for desperation, an emotion so embodied by right-hand man Eurylochus (Himesh Patel), Polites (Andrew Howard), and the remaining army under Odysseus’ command.
It’s a desperation that runs through every character in this film. Penelope needs her husband to be alive and come home; Telemachus wants the father he’s heard of but never known, as he was still a baby when Odysseus left for the war; Antinous wants to become king of Ithaca, resorting to murderous plots to achieve his objective; Eumaeus (John Leguizamo) faithfully and loyally waits for Odysseus to return, enduring all manner of taunts and violence in service of his king; Odysseus’ men want to survive, resorting to plunder and angering the gods; and Odysseus himself desires to return home after years of battle, toil, and death. Each person has a want; the prideful go after it with no impunity, while the others attempt to follow the path of righteousness. We can follow them easily through this story of loyalty, longing, betrayal, and justice thanks to Nolan setting them up simply, but there’s a magic to his simplicity. Each character is given depth without excess; the script tells us enough backstory to know where each character stands, but Nolan’s magic helps us stay with them, giving us more with each scene to firmly set us with or against them. It’s not done through heavy exposition or excessive showmanship; instead, he whittles everyone back to their intentions, making plain who our heroes and villains are, and with no ambiguity at all.
Matt Damon gives Odysseus a weary, what’s-next countenance that belies an intelligence far beyond our understanding. His physicality doesn’t speak of someone young and dumb; there’s a constant balancing act going on in his mind, and Damon emotes this with a thoughtfulness and practicality that others would have sneered at and dismissed. (Oh, yes, this happens, and those who dismiss his words are much worse for wear afterward.) Ghosts surround him wherever he goes, especially Athena, who marks his every move and questions his reasons for continuing on, and the shade of soldier Sinon (Elliot Page), whose devotion and loyalty earned him a violent death. Both Zendaya and Elliot Page play up their respective characters’ meaning to Odysseus with firmness and solemnity, digging into the driving motives behind Odysseus’ actions and demanding recompense.
This is an epic in every sense of the word—visually, thematically, aurally, and physically. This isn’t some swords-and-sandals summer movie that comes and goes with the seasons; it is a piece of everlasting art. Homer’s “The Odyssey” has been tackled cinematically, but this is distinguished by not focusing on the artifice and epicness of it all. In every Christopher Nolan movie, there’s at least one shot featuring the main character standing in medium focus while activity and action whirl around them as blurred images in the background and foreground. For me, it’s Nolan’s way of showing that the necessary work has been done, but he doesn’t want to pinpoint it or make it Exhibit A; instead, he chooses these moments to show the character’s isolation, out of step with the world around them, wondering how things came to be and what needs to be done to salvage their broken souls. This is how he involves us with The Odyssey; he shows the care that has been put into the artifice, but it’s not what he wants you to remember. Instead, he wants you to remember the humans standing in the middle of everything, blown about by the storms battering them into submission, and having the courage to withstand even certain death. He has done this with The Odyssey, a grand epic of sublime proportions that balances both the looks and emotions without either of these elements crossing up and getting in each other’s way.
