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There are so few film auteurs who can get away with purpose-building a film for a format that can be enjoyed in fewer than fifty locations worldwide, but Christopher Nolan has done just that with his latest film, The Odyssey, a relatively broad adaptation of Homer’s epic poem. While on assignment in Los Angeles, I had the great fortune to find a 70mm IMAX screening that, unlike most that have the full front row available, wouldn’t leave me in a neck brace for attending.
In short, Chris Nolan’s The Odyssey is an epic film, and a testament to the mechanics of practical filmmaking, of which Nolan is an ardent stalwart. Unlike the average, impassioned internet user, I didn’t expect Nolan’s adaptation of The Odyssey to be a 1:1 retelling of Homer’s prolific work, and rightly so. Instead, like a keen-eyed editor, he cuts up and reappropriates the poem into a boundless, enormous cinematic undertaking, and a Trojan Horse for the ideas and concepts Nolan has spent a year tackling comfortably.
The broad strokes of Homer’s Odyssey remain intact in Nolan’s retelling as it, out of sequence, in true Nolan fashion, follows Matt Damon’s Odysseus, his role in the Trojan Horse plot which led to the fall of Troy, and his arduous journey home, which is stymied by the Gods at every turn. Waiting for him in Ithaca are his wife, Penelope (Anne Hathaway), and son, Telemachus (Tom Holland), whose attempts to ward off suitors to Ithaca’s throne grow weary. It’s the prototypical hero’s journey after which all hero’s journeys are forged, though the Odysseus put to screen differs greatly from the poem’s proud hero. Saddled with lamentation and regret, Damon’s interpretation of the protagonist has a more modern moral compass that shackles him to his initial exile, as he’s unwilling to rejoin the civilisation he’d left in ruins.
It’s easy to see Odysseus as a parallel to Robert Oppenheimer, as their respective war-winning acts doomed their worlds and forced the men to reckon with their guilt. This is perhaps the biggest point of difference in The Odyssey, as Odysseus effectively keeps himself marooned on Calypso’s island, gorging on lotus flowers to numb his trauma. In short, Nolan’s Odyssey takes a few liberties with the poem’s ideas, going so far as to omit things entirely in service of keeping the film relatively brisk, but they’re in keeping with Nolan’s frequently explored themes.
Though I say brisk, the film nearly eclipses the three-hour limit imposed by choosing to film on 70mm with its runtime of two hours and fifty-two minutes. After her Oscar-winning work cutting Oppenheimer together, Jennifer Lame’s had the enormous task of editing this film for release. The film is already a truncated version of the poem, and there’s not a single ounce of fat in Nolan’s iteration; it felt as though every second was in service of the plot. If anything, it felt as though certain moments were rushed through to have the final cut come in under the three-hour threshold. It would have been nice to linger with the sirens, or take a second to learn anything about the towering, armoured giants; but unfortunately, like many of the film’s other mythic threats, it was relegated to “fuck everything and run.”
The Odyssey is a fantastical epic in every sense. Though I can’t exactly recommend people go to see this in 70mm, due to demand far outweighing supply for the format, its grandiose scope and cinematography benefit greatly from the much taller aspect ratio. As expected, the film is beautifully shot and makes tremendous use of its sought-out locations, like Morocco and Iceland, to recreate enough of the key beats of Homer’s epic. Nolan’s steadfast dedication to practical filmmaking is something I’ve always admired, and The Odyssey contains several set pieces that left me, whether due to the scope or the artistry itself, awestruck.
Although the fall of Troy is perhaps the film’s biggest, most expensive set piece, with its toll echoing throughout the film and the Ithacans’ voyage home, The Odyssey really is one breathless misadventure after another. From the initial encounter with Polyphemus, the cyclops of legend, which spurs on the divine wrath that ultimately scuppers their hopes of reaching home, through to an incredible sequence in which Circe (Samantha Morton) transforms Odysseus’s men into pigs in what is an incredible body horror scene utilising some all-too-impressive in-camera magic. The film is the grandest of spectacles.
Similar to not expecting Christopher Nolan to adapt the poem line-for-line, I was never for a second surprised by Nolan’s casting choices for this film. If the actors reading lines in crude American accents wasn’t enough of a tell, this version of The Odyssey checks that kind of authenticity at the door. Unlike Oppenheimer, where it felt like every actor in the ensemble was disappearing into their roles regardless of whether they had a minute of screen time or an hour, The Odyssey has more than a couple of perplexing performances. I don’t exactly believe Tom Holland is a bad actor; in fact, he’s had many affecting turns that I’ve loved throughout his career, but he was exposed here working against stronger actors. I was also let down by Jon Bernthal in his role as King Menelaus, who continues to play the Jon Bernthal who really wants to tell you something.
Thankfully, the film has many incredible performances—a few of which I’d fully expect to be nominated when awards season rolls around. Hathaway emerged as best on ground for me, bringing an exceptional elegance and maturity to her performance as Penelope, regularly outworking her scene partners. For all the controversy, Elliot Page’s blink and you’d miss it performance as Sinon, a naive shepherd who was unwittingly sacrificed to dupe the Trojans only to be found monologuing on the shores of Hades, is equal parts melancholy, haunting, and enraged, catalyzing part of Odysseus’s redemption arc. Even Robert Pattinson’s turn as the cowardly, insidious Antinous is contemptuous, a joy to hate, and hits levels of near-cartoonish villainy that’s irresistibly fun. Plate-licker is a top-tier insult that’ll absolutely be added to my vocabulary, though I doubt I’ll muster the venom Pattinson does when slagging off beggars.