The Odyssey may be the epic we deserve, but not the one we need

Christopher Nolan’s The Odyssey is a Trojan Horse of a film. No, I don’t mean that it’s about to give your computer a virus (though if you downloaded an illegal version this week instead of going to the cinema, that’s on you).

I mean that on the outside, it promises a gift of epic filmmaking, an adaptation of an ancient tale that is as timeless as it is timely; but on the inside lies a far-too ambitious number of ideas and plot beats suffocating under the weight of Nolan’s hubris.

Even if you haven’t read Homer’s original text, chances are you’re familiar with The Odyssey’s narrative foundations: epic battles, monsters and magic, witches, giants, the Cyclops and sirens, the Trojan Horse — and a hero who, despite their best efforts, just can’t seem to return home. For Zeus’s sake, Ithaca is not all that far from Troy — somebody hand this man a GPS!

Indeed, the tropes of Odysseus’s epic voyage have long been an inseparable part of modern mythmaking, having inspired everything from The Wizard of Oz to Lord of the Rings, Star Wars and Spirited Away. 

It’s also an early example of a story told non-chronologically, via flashbacks and memory sequences — so it’s little wonder Inception/Memento/Tenet director Christopher Nolan resisted making his version for so long (reportedly he had the idea over 20 years ago, when he was briefly attached to direct 2004’s Troy).

Now that the big wait is over, one question looms: was it worth it?

The introduction to the story absolutely nails the vibe. 

A man stands atop a table at a feast, banging his staff rhythmically and announcing the song of Odysseus. We see flashes of the Trojan War, of the royal family of Ithaca, and of our hero, wandering on a far-flung beach.

We understand this tale will be told as a memory, as a fable, and through varying accounts. The art direction is tremendous, too, and naturally the rugged mountains and wine-dark seas look incredible on the IMAX screen.

Expectations are high, and palpable: every frame oozes expensive costumes, camera rigs, pyrotechnics and remote location hire. 

Every set piece is grand, every monster is enormous, and every face is recognisable. A cast of thousands! But the stacked cast (Matt Damon as Odysseus, Anne Hathaway his long-suffering wife Penelope, and Robert Pattinson one of her determined suitors) screams ‘get bums on seats’, more than it does ‘get the best actors for the job’. 

Nothing is necessarily wrong with any of them, but a lot of the actors — particularly Tom Holland, who plays Odysseus’s son Telemachus — give you the unshakeable feeling that you are simply watching a bunch of famous actors waltz about in chitons. 

Charlize Theron is a particularly heinous culprit here, swanning about Calypso’s beach like she’s in a perfume commercial.

On the other end of the spectrum, the gorgeous Lupita Nyong’o gives as much as she can with Helen of Troy’s five-ish minutes of screen time, but her colossal talent is ultimately wasted. 

Likewise with Elliot Page as Sinon the warrior, and Mia Goth as Melantho the disloyal maidservant. Their presence is reduced to mere cameo status as they struggle to hold their own against the relentless number of plot points and characters here. Has there even been a clearer case of too many cooks?

Not so for Samantha Morton, who, though less recognisable than her castmates, stands in a class of her own as Circe the witch. Luring the weary warriors into her seaside cabin, Morton captivates and horrifies as she transforms them with her magic — which becomes far more visceral than you might expect. Who do I talk to about getting her a spin-off movie? Probably not Nolan, given his track record of directing women’s stories.

Damon as the eponymous Odysseus is just fine — but even though 80 per cent of Damon’s resume is characters who outsmart their foes, I plum forgot his character was supposed to be known more for his cunning than his strength. 

There is so much focus on the sword fights, all accompanied by Ludwig Göransson’s relentless panic attack of a score, that we lose sight of an essential Homeric trait. And no, having dialogue that explains to the audience how clever the man is does NOT a clever man make.

Speaking of dialogue, The Odyssey is needlessly wordy. Nearly every beat is set up, narrated, and back-announced by expository dialogue that goes beyond holding the audience’s hand and into shaking us by the shoulders screaming “DO YOU GET IT? DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT’S HAPPENING?”. 

There are also groan-inducing quips during action sequences, and overt references to America and Christian mythology. 

“So much for the greatest nation in the world,” bemoans Telemachus — a line that is carelessly cast without further examination. It makes one long for the Nolan that deliberately left some things obtuse.

I probably would have adored this adaptation if it had been a limited series. The idea of tuning in every week to watch a one-and-a-half hour episode of whatever trial and tribulation Odysseus is up to next fills me with glee. 

Ultimately, much of the film feels like a montage of “Odysseus’ Greatest Hits”, with scene after scene frenetically cut as though in a huge rush to get to the finish, while simultaneously being an incredibly long and exhausting experience. There is barely any room for moments to breathe in this bigger-than-Ben-Hur endurance test of a flick. And I’m just going to say it: O Brother, Where Art Thou? did it better.

The Odyssey is in cinemas now.