Be it space travel or an epic quest, thematic classification has often relied on the term ‘odyssey’. But Odyssey is not a genre. It is the particular text that would define (at least in known antiquity) a literary style entangled with the foundational curiosity of homo sapiens. The sequel is easily seen as retribution for Troy. None of the participants returned to their civilian lives where they had left them. Agamemnon had sacrificed his daughter, inaugurating a sequence of incestuous murders.
Achilles and Hector, both heroes of the Iliad, get killed. Only, as if to justify the purpose, Menelaus returned to Sparta with his “trophy”. Some had been sceptical of Lupita Nyong’o’s dual role of Helen and Clytemnestra, while others reproached lack of more emphasis. Leda’s kids were not identical twins. By showing so, it is implied that Helen wasn’t at least the most beautiful woman. Wise men knew it was maritime trade rivalry with Troy. Helen was an excuse, exaggerated through rumours of divine birth and beauty. In her brief slot, Nyong’o impacts the audience with her deep scorn for that pretence, something that more screen time might have diluted.
The Odyssey speaks of a Crusader’s homecoming, not unlike in Det Sjunde Inseglet. Speaking of which, Gary Giddins conjectured about Bergman’s ‘religious-ethical concerns in a possibly godforsaken universe’. Heavenly apparitions from metaphorical ballads or abstract plays would have torn apart the storytelling in cinema. Book V shows Calypso, who took a fancy to Odysseus and kept him captive. She even asked for him to be made her immor tal consort, which Nolan summarises in her proposal, ‘What we have here can last forever.’ For Homer, Zeus’ interference had compelled her to let Odysseus sail to his fate. I was eager to see how that could be realistically captured.
Why, from the man’s perspective, of course! Ignorant of Olympian discussions, one fine morning he finds Calypso (Charlize Theron) no more possessive. A woman asserting her choice to love a man (not her socially sanctioned husband as in Penelope’s case) was depicted as a dominatrix in the archaic setup. For Nolan, she saves Odysseus, nursing his wounds, providing Lotus Flower morphine for his agonies. One-sidedly enamoured, she has been postponing what she must do: help him recover lost remembrance and return to his family, leaving her with fond memories of what to him would seem a delusive nightmare.
But there is one simply-clad youngish goddess played charmingly by Zendaya, who doesn’t demand offerings or scare with seastorms. Disdain in her silent eyes whips the believer’s conscience. Telemachus observed in Uncle Mentor (Ryan Hurst) Athena’s eyes, as in fact did Homer, but Odysseus was crisp, ‘Don’t look for gods in men. You’ll always be disappointed.’ So, where did Odysseus pick Her up? You don’t want me to spoil for you the movie’s narrative climax. Odysseus is the ideal Hellenistic protagonist: simple, strong, shrewd and theist. Glorifying the shipwreck survivor’s faith is easy; those drowned can’t prove having prayed. What characterizes the survivor, if anything apart from chance, is not faith but rebellion. Here, Odysseus questions Olympian authority.
Matt Damon’s choice was natural after Gen. Groves in Oppenheimer, who asserted himself sharply not with a scalpel’s precision, but with a knife’s surety. Tiresias’ (James Remar) prophecy of all his men dying on the way doesn’t relieve an unrequited guardian’s fervour to save them, knowing as well that he probably would fail. He feels responsible for his subordinates’ glories and misfortunes, shares the burden of their savagery as much as their virtues. Exasperated with living in fear, of Mycenae or of Olympus, he grumbles, ‘We can’t live life with omens and sacrifices.’
Circe (Samantha Morton) explains to him that his men are pigs. When the sorceress undoes her transfiguration, she says, ‘Come back with your disguises.’ She is not vengeful like Medusa. She has an eagle – eye view of how a commander misreads innate savagery for discipline. A sadistic power unleashed on enemy walls is beyond the reins of its designers. Cacoyannis’ Iphigenia (1977) conveys how that frenzy would not have spared even Agamemnon or Achilles failing to comply with their bloodthirst. Another perspective can be of a coming-of-age tale. Inhibited by juvenile shyness before addressing Nestor (Book II), Telemachus must fit in a man’s shoes for the sake of an orphaned clan.
Contemporary society, not unlike the one the laws of Manu governed, bestowed upon his decision the fate of his mother: her remarriage, her dowry or what to do with the widowed queen. Odysseus’ bloodline amidst hostile scavengers, with insufficient strength and immature merit, he struggles with the role of a patriarch, shouldering responsibilities and shielding Penelope. The f ilm is loyal to an epic’s characteristic multidimensional storyline. Literateur Buddhadeb Basu referred to Indian and Greek epics as ‘mines’ from which stories are extracted, rather than stories themselves.
One can draw out contexts or characters, and each of them will form a distinct story with a unique end. Eumaeus (John Leguizamo), whose loyalty exceeds his frail strength. Melantho (Mia Goth), the handmaiden seduced by Antinous to aid in his plan. Sinon (Elliot Page), the kid from the Aeneid, who wished to die for, not due to, Odysseus. Frictions and camaraderie between Eurylochus (Himesh Patel) and Odysseus. The way Telemachus (Tom Holland) is bullied by his mother’s suitors (Corey Hawkins and others) will remind many of us middle school corridors. Actor Robert Pattinson as Antinous embodies the opportunist youth unmoved by Mycenaean nationalism.
But what of those who went to war? The veterans were a disaster to civilization. Flashbacks show the newlywed Penelope (Anne Hathaway) without adornments as a naturally happy bride. At the height of her eternal wait, decorous queenly attire and pose endow her with a dignity that befits the absent Odysseus’s prestige. Within frames composed with the precision of a fresco, notice the mild humming of an azaan-like oriental tune in the Trojan temple located in modern Turkey, in a metropolis of ancient Semite people distinct in race and pride from the Greek Aryans. Speaking of historical accuracy, iron armours in a bronze age setting have attracted debate.
It is that polished black color and decorated helmet that gives Agamemnon (Benny Safdie) the cold, deadly appearance. Throughout, he never steps out of the unapproachable demeanour of the powerful emperor. But back home, the moment he strips, he gets killed in vengeance that had been temporarily withheld by security. This metaphor could not have been achieved without the opaque black. When Odysseus blinds the Cyclops (Bill Irwin) and it groans in a beastly wail, and crawling in a corner cries pitiably, ‘Father Poseidon, they have blinded me…’ you can’t help feeling sorry for the colossal creature.
For the moment you forget that it had just chewed up 6 men like biscuits. Authors have seen through ‘the face that launched a thousand ships’ and even ancient Egyptians attest Mycenaeans as the ‘people from the sea’. But inducing sympathy for the Cyclops? Nolan surprises. The Odyssey concludes a vivid journey. Not just the Trojan expedition, but the Mycenaean saga waiting for an Athenian revival 400 years later.
(The writer is a research scholar, dept. Math, IIT Bhilai)