Christopher Nolan’s greatest strength as a filmmaker is taking an idea that, on paper, sounds like a high-concept art film destined to be beloved by a niche audience of film bros and turning it into a bonafide blockbuster.

Such is the case with his adaptation of Homer’s sprawling “The Odyssey,” a film that honors its 3,000-year-old source material while simultaneously introducing audiences to a world populated by characters, concepts and themes that feel recognizably modern.

Nolan’s “Odyssey” opens with a terse, but important piece of text: “It is a time of apparent magic.” This statement tells the viewer all they need to know about whether this is a grounded, realistic approach to the story, or a fantasy adventure driven by unknowable gods: It’s both. Or it’s neither. It’s—like the hero of the story—complicated.

The film, like the epic poem on which it is based, revels in its non-linear storytelling (a hallmark of Nolan’s filmography), but the thrust of the plot is this: Odysseus (Matt Damon), the king of Ithaca spends 10 years fighting in the Trojan War, and a further 10 trying to find his way home to his wife, Penelope (Anne Hathaway), and son, Telemachus (played as an adult by Tom Holland). 

In Odysseus’ absence, his palace has been overrun with suitors (most notably Antinous, played by a deliciously slimy Robert Pattinson) who insist it is past time for Penelope to remarry and, in the process, crown a new king.

In myth, as in war, nothing is ever simple, and Odysseus and his ever-dwindling crew face obstacles beginning with a man-eating cyclops (Bill Irwin), whose blinding and subsequent taunting (accomplished by Homer with an exchange of words, by Nolan with an unnecessary arrow) by Odysseus has, we are told by second-in-command Eurylochus (Hamish Oatel), incurred the wrath of the monster’s father, the sea god Poseidon.

The not-so-merry band of adventurers find equally less-than-warm welcomes on an island of towering, nigh-invulnerable warriors known as Laestrygonians as well as the home of the witch Circe (Samantha Morton), who transforms the crew in a scene of practical effects-driven body horror that will be haunting this author’s nightmares for the foreseeable future.

In each location, Odysseus and his heavily-armed crew find themselves surprised at the lack of hospitality—supposed violations of the “law of Zeus,” which demands strangers be met with generosity, lest they turn out to be gods in disguise. It is this very code that prevents Telemachus from violently ejecting the suitors from his father’s home, despite his mother’s repeated urges.

At the same time, the audience is left questioning whether Odysseus’ crew ever deserved—or even properly requested—such hospitality during their ill-fated layovers. Are they truly cursed by the gods, or are they consistently doomed by the consequences of their own actions? What the film ultimately asks is: is there a difference?

It all comes back to the horse.

The Trojan horse has become a hallmark of Odyssey adaptations, but was never actually mentioned in Homer’s “Odyssey”—or, for that matter, “The Iliad.” The story of the Greeks hiding inside a wooden horse given as a gift to the city of Troy to honor the gods comes from Virgil’s “Aeneid,” written long after Homer’s epics, which depicts Odysseus as a cruel and deceitful villain, rather than the hero of his own story. 

Nolan’s version of the Trojan horse begins as a tale told by Odysseus’ admirers as a testament to his brilliance and heroism, but ultimately refuses to back down from what such a tactic would actually amount to: a brutal war crime, a violation of codes both human and divine.

Much of the film’s humanity rests on Damon’s capable shoulders, deftly portraying Odysseus as both a relatable everyman and a fallen hero whose self-image is shattered by his willing violations of his own moral code. 

This portrayal makes it easy to believe Odysseus would willingly spend years as an amnesiac on an island with only the nymph Calypso (Charlize Theron) and his visions of the disappointed goddess Athena (Zendaya) for company. 

Athena is the only member of the Greek pantheon to appear directly on screen, and, in keeping with the promise of “apparent magic” is only ever seen by Odysseus alone. The question of her appearing in the form of Zendaya (asked loudly by the absolute worst corners of the Internet) is answered quite clearly in an on-screen moment near the close of the film.

Much of the online pre-criticism of Nolan’s “Odyssey” was couched in concern about “historical accuracy,” a framing that ignores the fact that the film is based on myth, not history, as well as a crucial misunderstanding of the purpose of film itself. 

History teaches history, film tells a story. That the people who fail to understand the distinction also tend to be the people with the weakest grasp on both the realities of history and the artform of film is no coincidence.

The similarly maligned casting of Lupita Nyong’o, in the dual roles of Helen of Troy and her sister, Clytemnestra, isn’t given a textual explanation for one very simple reason: none is needed. Nyong’o, a talented performer with experience juggling two roles in one film (see Jordan Peele’s “Us,”) gives both characters memorable and emotional moments, despite scant screen time.

Elliot Page’s character, Sinon, was forced to go to war by Antinous’ cowardice, and met his death as a sacrifice at the wooden horse as a result of Odysseus’ deception (this isn’t a spoiler, it happens at the beginning). The actor’s boyish features and diminutive stature serve the character’s purpose as a depiction of the cost paid by young men forced by circumstances outside of their control to fight and die in the wars waged by more powerful men. 

This commentary isn’t subtle—Sinon gets the chance to list Odysseus’ sins to his face during a brief stopover in hell. Page’s performance becomes a standout in a film loaded with standout performances: Hathaway, Holland, Pattinson, Oatel and Morten are all deserving of high praise for what they bring, as are John Leguizamo for his role as Odysseus’s faithful blind servant, Eumaeus, and Jon Bernthal as the gruff Spartan King Menelaus. 

In fact, there isn’t a single weak performance in the entirety of the packed supporting cast, which also includes Mia Goth, Travis Scott and James Remar.

Nolan’s controversial decision to use modern dialogue delivered in American accents winds up being a creative choice that enhances, rather than detracts from, the text. “The medium is the message,” to paraphrase Canadian theorist Marshall McLuhan. Words delivered in a modern cadence, with modern meaning, communicate that Nolan’s “Odyssey” is not a mere retelling of an ancient tale, but a story told by present-day artists to a present-day audience about characters and themes that reflect the modern world.

As a blind poet told ancient Greeks the story of Odysseus to teach them about their own lives and the world they inhabited, so Nolan and his team do the same for the year 2026. It’s not difficult to imagine that, somewhere down the line, another artist will do the same for the audiences of the future. Let’s just hope they do their job half as well as Nolan.

About the author:

Benjamin Hooper would like to take a moment to compliment himself for not using the headline “why you oughta see Nolan’s ‘Odyssey’” and resisting the urge to refer to the cyclops as “bigger Gollum.” He would also like to recommend his other favorite “Odyssey” adaptations: the Coen brothers’ “Oh Brother, Where Art Thou?” and the “Wishbone” episode “Homer, Sweet Homer.”

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