“A war, a man, a trick.” This is how Christopher Nolan’s *Odyssey* begins, with the words of Travis Scott in the unexpected role of a bard, a singer who recounts the deeds of great heroes and great men. In a sense, we could call it the counterpart to the famous “Tell me, O Muse,” with which Book I of Homer’s epic dedicated to the hero of “many-gifted” begins: that Odysseus who, yesterday as today, continues to fascinate us with his profoundly heroic yet deeply human nature. And, let’s say it right away, Nolan’s epic masterfully reconciles both aspects in nearly three hours of film that, nevertheless, keep us glued to the screen not even for a second. One of the most anticipated films of the year—despite pointless controversies and barroom gossip—proves to live up to expectations: a monumental tale, capable of astonishing us with its visual grandeur without ever losing sight of the human dimension of its protagonist.
Beyond the star-studded cast and the masterful cinematography—shot entirely on 70-millimeter IMAX film in analog format—the most interesting thing about the film is that it brings us face-to-face with one of the undisputed protagonists of epic literature that we’ve all studied, forcing us to view him from a new perspective. It reconnects us not only to our school days but, above all, to universal values that—from Homer to the present—are more relevant than ever. And it is precisely this that surprises us, frightens us, and, perhaps, even comforts us. Who is Odysseus? The shrewdest and most intelligent of the Achaean warriors; someone whom some today would call “the smartest” of the group. Not the strongest or the most invincible—that was Achilles—but the one who, fully aware that absolute strength does not exist, chose to rely on intellect. He is the mastermind behind the ruse of the horse that would lead to the fall of Troy; he is the man who, for twenty years, would remain far from his homeland, Ithaca, and from his wife Penelope: partly by the will of the gods, partly because—let’s face it—the world exerts an irresistible pull on him. Odysseus wants to discover, explore, push himself further—sometimes even beyond his own limits. And it is precisely this curiosity of his—not without consequences, sometimes disastrous—that makes him so contemporary in his complexity.
Ulysses knows he must return home and wants to do so; but the difference between his desire to return and that of his traveling companions is palpable, and the film conveys it with great effectiveness. Whether he encounters Polyphemus, Scylla and Charybdis, or the ruthless Sirens, his gaze is not merely that of a victim or an ill-fated hero, but also that of someone who consciously chooses to let life take him by surprise. In his eyes—or rather, in those of Matt Damon, who portrays him flawlessly—there is always a trace of amazement and wonder, combined with a deeper awareness: one that has to do with honor, respect for the gods, and the desire to be reunited with his family.
In fact, Nolan’s film perfectly combines the two fundamental aspects of the *Odyssey*: on the one hand, the epic dimension, consisting of Ulysses’ adventures at sea; on the other, the more intimate and painful dimension of his return, which constitutes the true heart of the work. Ulysses is not only the most intelligent and valiant hero to whom the Trojans’ final defeat is owed—he is also a man who has not set foot at home for twenty years. His return is, understandably, traumatic. It is the return of a man who no longer knows who he truly is, who no longer knows whom or what to trust, who has lost everything, and who has witnessed death, destruction, violence, and oppression. That same oppression is playing out in his own home, in Ithaca, where Penelope’s suitors feast and camp out every evening in the hope that she will choose one of them. Among them stands out Antinous, played by Robert Pattinson, who is just the right mix of cruel and arrogant. The British actor delivers a textbook villain: insolent, manipulative, and just cowardly enough to make him unbearable in every shot.
Behind her loom, Anne Hathaway’s Penelope sews and unravels her tapestry. And it is precisely the female characters that are worth focusing on. Beyond the pointless controversies over Elena’s skin color, Nolan delivers a grand epic in which women aren’t simply relegated to the roles of the seductress on one hand and the pure, faithful wife on the other. These are characters endowed with a complexity that goes far beyond their outward appearances. Penelope is not merely a woman who waits. She is a determined woman, capable of loving and defending her right to solitude and fidelity. She is the worthy companion of the astute king of Ithaca: shrewd enough to keep the suitors in limbo for ten years, without ever compromising her honor as a woman, wife, and mother. Circe, commonly remembered as the seductress par excellence, is a far cry from the stereotype that genre cinema—especially that of the 1950s—had accustomed us to: that of the beautiful, voluptuous woman who bewitches men only to destroy them. Nolan’s Circe, played by Samantha Morton, appears instead as a woman who is no longer young, lonely, marginalized, and somewhat adrift. In some ways, she brings to mind those women considered “witches” precisely because they were different—women persecuted for centuries throughout history. But she is also a valuable ally to Odysseus: it is thanks to her, in fact, that he will manage to find his way home. Charlize Theron plays Calypso, and here, too, forget about unnecessary embellishments or seductive excesses. Her outfits are simple, her gaze is clear. She, who fell in love with the hero and kept him with her on Ogygia for seven years, is also the woman who allows him to start living again, helping him above all to recover the memory of his past. Lupita Nyong’o plays Helen and, in an interesting dual role, also her sister Clytemnestra. This is by no means a random choice; it evokes one of the most tragic female characters in Greek literature: a wounded mother who chooses to reclaim what was most precious and taken from her. The women in Nolan’s film are not defined by their ability to seduce, and there is no erotic objectification in their portrayal. Like the men, they are characters who live and act through their own personalities, intelligence, and choices, without ever being reduced to mere “temptations” for the hero. Athena, the goddess who protects Odysseus, played by Zendaya, is a presence as brief as it is decisive. She is the hero’s conscience, his sense of duty, but also the one who reminds us of the fragile and complex boundary between the human and the divine: a fine line that sometimes unites and sometimes divides.
In this sense, Ulysses embodies this perfectly: he possesses an almost divine intelligence, yet retains a disarming humanity—one made up of contradictions, remorse, and an inexhaustible desire to explore the world, even when this ends up putting the lives of his loved ones at risk. Of course, the film doesn’t shy away from some of the typical tropes of great Hollywood cinema. The war sequences are spectacular and fast-paced, constructed with a relentless rhythm and supported by a soundtrack that builds progressively alongside the narrative tension, accompanying each battle with a climax that amplifies its emotional impact. Nolan proves once again that he has a perfect command of scale: he alternates the din of war with the silence of the sea, the immensity of the landscapes with the fragility of his characters, without one dimension ever definitively prevailing over the other.
The cinematography masterfully harnesses the vastness of the IMAX format to transform the Mediterranean into a true character in the story: immense, hostile, and fascinating all at once. The sea is not merely a backdrop, but a living presence, constantly testing the hero’s body and spirit. After all, Homer himself had the foresight to compose a work that seems to lend itself naturally to the language of cinema: in the end, love triumphs, the hero returns home, and the family is reunited. But Odysseus remains human—all too human to prevent us from questioning ourselves: about all the times we long to escape and all the times we long to return home; on the times we consciously choose to let ourselves be seduced by the unknown and end up sacrificing even those we love in order to achieve a goal, only to later regret it and live with the burden of remorse. Odysseus reminds us that perfection does not exist, not even among the gods and heroes.
And perhaps that is precisely why, even today, he continues to make us think more than any other figure.
[📹 📷© UPI Media / Universal Pictures]
